I Write Poetry
The sun sets on the mountains
in the distance far away
Almost to the end, he thinks,
Of another hot, dusty day.
Two more days, maybe three
He'll reach that mountain range
As he pickets his horse and rubs him down
He thinks back on the day.
Two men died that afternoon
Both by his lightening hand
It seems he just can't get away
Always makin' a stand
He hadn't done them wrong
They just seemed to have to know
How good they were, or just how fast
Turns out, they were slow
As he rolls out his bedroll
To sleep, one eye open wide
He hopes he'll be a stranger, unknown
at the end of this here ride.
He looks back to the sunset
As it slowly fades to gray
"Maybe someday I'll find a place
And put my guns away"
in the distance far away
Almost to the end, he thinks,
Of another hot, dusty day.
Two more days, maybe three
He'll reach that mountain range
As he pickets his horse and rubs him down
He thinks back on the day.
Two men died that afternoon
Both by his lightening hand
It seems he just can't get away
Always makin' a stand
He hadn't done them wrong
They just seemed to have to know
How good they were, or just how fast
Turns out, they were slow
As he rolls out his bedroll
To sleep, one eye open wide
He hopes he'll be a stranger, unknown
at the end of this here ride.
He looks back to the sunset
As it slowly fades to gray
"Maybe someday I'll find a place
And put my guns away"
By:
CAnnesdad
Age:
41-45
,
Male
