The Outlaw

The Outlaw

The outlaw's face sublime bold his name etched in stone

He rides the haunting wind on a long forgotten road in El Paso

Hard on the trail with a horse almost dead laden with gold

Left with only a memory of of a dream lost in the hot sands of New Mexico

They called him Billy a bastard of a war he never chose

Living by the Old Testament of his gun he cast the first stone

Now his name only uttered by children, troubadours and ghosts

He walked the razors edge of a bullet and where his body lies nobody knows

Justice was a man and his gavel was a Colt with a friend named Holiday

The streets echoed their verdict as men lie dying in this passion play

The years pass like the pages of a book forgotten wasting away

Yellow and frayed in a grave where time never turns the page

Now the tales are retold a weathered tapestry of a time long ago

From Wichita to Tombstone the wind now sings across their bones

The outlaw's ballad down in a West Texas town of El Paso

Ghosts around a flickering camp fire guns flashing in the afterglow

© Chad Taylor