Part one

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.