by The Saint
There comes a day where fighting back is no longer an option
|Slowly He turned to face me,|
His guns were at his sides.
"I'll never face that hanging tree"
He told me with great pride.
His legend made him lightning fast,
His aim was deathly true.
And never once in this mans past'
Had another even 'drew'
I watched his never blinking eyes.
He motioned with his head.
I heard the distant vulture cries,
and knew I'd soon be dead.
Then in his eyes I saw it,
My shot rang loud and clear.
It seemed today that He had quit,
His dying day was here.
The chambers of his guns were filled,
He'd never even tried.
For in his eyes,I'd saw he'd killed,
but just as often died.