Surrounded by the hot
desert air and the dust,
your hand lingers above
your colt waiting for
what seems an eternity.
Finally he flinches and
you draw your gun and
shoot, leaving a cloud of
smoke and a corpse. They
say there are two types
out here, the quick and
the dead. But You, your
gift is speed, and your
curse is death, it follows
you wherever you go. Another
man face down in the street
just another body until the
next one comes along.