The drifter went out riding to fulfill a last request
he didn't know how far he'd get, but he'd sworn to try his best
he was old and worn, like a right stale thorn and his sight was getting dim
but he saw the end just around the bend, at the old Gungravel inn
The lights all dimmed when he stepped in through the door of that awful place
and it was no surprise that he didn't recognize a single face
all the people turned and looked away for fear of what they'd find
because a stranger in a dangerous land was rare a pleasant sign
He looked around until he'd found the target of his chase
He'd never met the man before, but he wasn't hard to place
Because he had a crooked smile of the likes that liars show
when they find out they've been found out and there aint nowhere to go
Hello," said he, "you don't know me, but I know you by name
You're old John Reedly Fisher, and it's time to end your game
See I've been on your trail since I heard the tale and if it turns out true
then buckle up old Johnny boy, it's time to pay your dues"
John Reedly sat up straighter and he looked him in the eye
He said, "you don't strike me as the type who's out look'n to die.
It just so happens I've got the time, to listen for a spell."
So the drifter took a seat and told the tale he had to tell.
A/N: So begins Gungravel, the epic western tale of revenge, tragedy, has-beens and bullets. This is my first epic poem I've ever attempted, so if any of you expert writers out there have suggestions for how to make it flow better or any of that, I would be most grateful, and be indebted to return the favor to the best of my ability.