He set out that night
With a bit of food in the saddlebag
Wrapped tightly in an old rag
Miles and days on down the trail
The scene was becoming quite unreal
A prairie schooner with a Jolly Roger riding atop
A flooding of pain looming
Which not a person could stop
He halted just before sunrise
Built a fire of decent size
And closed his heavy eyes
His fear proved true quickly
By the smell of the horse saddle sore
The poor beauty
All ripped and tore
Meanwhile back at town hall
On the eve of the grand ball
A darkening sky did call
Rain began to fall
All the town in a sudden stall
Unaware
That years before in the frozen snow
A treasure was buried below
Pearls, diamonds, and gold that still did glow
The chest it lay under the dusty miller
Hidden by the silent killer
Just behind the hemp nettle
Where she finally did settle
When he was almost where
he was going
He stopped at the last stream flowing
Gave a drink to his horse and had some time to think
It must have been the sentry
Who gave him a strange entry
Into the outskirts of town
When he got to the center
He unsaddled his horse
And blazed a path with his walking stick
Hunched over with his roach back
Carrying over his shoulder a dusty sack
Something was strange
Was it years of change?
Or simply fear
Of seeing those he had held so dear
He knew something had gone sour
For the reek of burning coming from the old clock tower
He walked past the inn
And into a tin horn
With a face full of scorn
Black riding boots
Aces up his sleeve
And a mean streak
Not a soul could conceive
He smelled smoke
He smelled whisky
He smelled trouble
He walked down the path with
more of a limp now
How he knew what to do
No one knew
And they never would
None of the robbers thought he could
Could take them down
Without a sound
But he was just a broken drifter
So they knew he was no threat
They had though no idea who they had met
When he finally found his
firstborn
She was beat pretty bad and quite absently forlorn
She did not recognize him
For the drifter had aged
Like a varying hare his colors changed
He was the drifter
Like a bull snake eating vermin
He rode in his own world
To his own sermon
