High noon
Same old story
I don’t want to kill you, even after all that
I’m a violent person, but not a proud one
Anyway, it’s not a fair fight
I’m the fastest draw in this West
My Colt never misses
and her bullets never let up

High noon
We imagine that the dust of these streets
And the heat of this sun
are eternal Goods
that will carry us Home
But it is not so
and my boots were made for riding, not for walking

High noon
I don’t remember our quarrel
I don’t recall your crimes
I can’t believe you’ll show your face
I think I saw it rotting
on a scarecrow’s crucifix
in a wide and prosperous corn field
somewhere between where I came from
and where I’m headed

High noon
Really, I’m just here to be polite
My heart feels no bitterness
The wound you left has forgotten you
and the path its shoved me into
has not been
a bad way
has become
mine

High noon
and I am no longer
fascinated by you

My silver spurs jangle as my hard-soled boots thwack the hard-packed dirt
I have turned round and am heading towards the saloon
If you show up, you will draw, and I will outdraw you and you will die
The game has advanced beyond itself
The game has ended

Author: Sarsaparilla Sam
Groupie Liaison: Amble Whistletown
Promo flyers bound up with free cigarettes at the club: Bartleby Willard