Weak from travelling tired and thirsty
He’s been two years on the road.
In pursuit of one who left him
And the man with whom she rode.
In his bag lies a revolver
In his eyes there’s only hate.
And he’s angered to discover
Once again he’s arrived too late.
On… on… and on he’ll be gone,in the morning
On till it’s gone, all the reason for his mourning.
It was evening Late December,
When he finally, he tracked them down.
In a cold flat they surrendered
Within moments two shots rang out.
Now his searching has been ended
And his reason for living too.
As the year closed that December,
It claimed his life and his soul too.