Looking Through Stained Glass

Graphic of a sexy but dangerously dark lord drawing his sword
In the lands of the lawless, many a tale are often told
Usually in hushed whispers, very few dare to be bold
Risking the wrath of men with the coldest of ways
Who play deadly games, and rarely live to grow old

Some only did their evil when the moon holds sway
The local sheriff did his dirt in the bright sun’s ray
Rumor had it, never a kindness has he shown
Enforcing his cruel bent on others day after day

Across the prairie an equestrian man rode alone.
Only a crow and a red scarf to remind him of home
But the home he once knew had been turned around
A mere shadow of the place he’d once known

Looking for the happiness that nowhere else was found.
But the sheriff’s men blocked him, deciding to surround
Taking meter as the sheriff introduces himself on the stand
Leaning against a pole, his eyes on the dusty ground

As the town folk ran frightened he began to understand
Just how deep the wrong this sheriff had at his command
The sheriff’s voice was steel, though his words were festive
Noting all the ‘protection’ fees they were forced to demand

A chorus of gasps was heard as the cowboy declined the missive
Saying over his stone cold body would be the only way he’d give
Challenging the sheriff shooting skill, against the town’s release
Because for all the wrong he done this town he didn’t deserve to live

Two cold, hard stares stand face-to-face showing their Colt piece
Not one soul saw either man make a move for their gun’s release
Two shots rang with velocity, but only one stood under blue skies
The cowboy gets on his horse as the town cheers the sheriff’s decease

He rides on out just him and his crow, never said hellos or good-byes
Holding his coat over the gunshot slowly brings tears to film his eyes
Those who he freed realized too late, their saviors name they didn’t know
As somewhere in the far distance they all hear where a lone crow cries

It is days later before someone thinks to maybe they should go
Find the cause of the pitiful sounds of the black bird lamenting so
It’s another day in the prairie before the cowboy’s body is found cold
There’s now a headstone in it's place, under the name of Crow

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© 2005 Raivenne (All rights reserved)

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