wanders around.
Of fleeting, fearful words,
The Stampede has come to town.
Women, children: hide
men; to arms!
Shaken, afraid, they wait
A bounty, large by all,
rests upon that head
For cities leveled when
A man, into view,
steadily, he walks
Wrapped in a coat, blood red
A black cat crosses,
underfoot
He shrieks; a scream, a jump
The Stampede has come to town?
Blinking, stares the cat,
the people, too.
He coughs, continues on.
A day passes,
goes to night
And he, asleep, hung-over
Morning breaks, the cat meows;
he is not found
So drunk is he he cannot wake.
The sheriff enters,
gun aimed at him.
He stirrs, he yawns, he blinks
He laughs; he speaks
of nonsense, really.
Then plugs the sheriff's gun.
He leaves, walks out
without a care.
Men greet him in the street.
Bullets fly, he runs
and hides.
No shot does he return.
Bountyhunters gallop in
intent upon that man.
It is they who rend the city.
He shows himeself
gun unholstered.
The hunters grin and cackle.
He fires four,
one for each,
And takes each in the trigger hand.
The Stampede has come to town!
The hunters, fleeing,
he stops with words.
He reminds them of their bounty.
The townsmen, bold,
rush the men,
And take their bounty instead of his.
Children laughing, playing,
wrestle.
They are beating him.
People laugh, dance,
rejoice.
They can rebuild the city.
All good things must pass,
and thus,
This man must now move on.
A wasteland
lay before him:
a hope, a light, behind.
