I stood in the ring of the kitchen,
guns set at hips, hat shadowin’ my eyes, and the three of them standin’ round me,
backin’ me into a corner where I’d be defenseless and in fear.
The three of them, a single unit, against me, myself and I,
standin’ toe to toe, eye to eye. Snarlin’ in our righteous corners
at the blazon battle about to be fought; a battle I know I won’t win.
There are only so many bullets in these two Colt 45s of mine that I can sling,
no reloadin’, no extra bullets to fight with because I didn’t come prepared.
I’m an old and worn gunslinger of this here town.
Been fightin’ battles since I was a young one about knee high
and now I’ve grown tired and weary of my gun slingin’ days.
Now I want to hang up these Colt 45s and handle this fight in a peaceful manner
but my rep as a wild eyed gunslinger won’t let me live it down.
And now here’s this battle in which they called me out,
they said, “meet us at high noon in the ring and we’ll settle our harms with guns drawn.”
So here I stand like Doc Holiday and Earp Brothers in the OK Corral
against the Clanton gang but without the Earps levelin’ the field.
I’m alone in this fight.
A solitary figure stuck against the counter as they circle me
with vengeance and anger steamin’ in their mean devilish eyes.
My hands at the tips of my guns waitin’ to draw at the first sign of movement in theirs,
knowin’ the slightest thing would set them off and bullets would fly and I’d be dead.
Because this is one battle I won’t walk away from with the sun at my back.
Nissa Hauer ® All Rights Reserved 2004 | 
chipper
