The Smell of Death and Dead Men
It was an hour before sunset and the sun was hangin’ red.
The posse and the outlaws were packin’ steel and lead.
Some would walk away that day and some would fall there dead.
Those that bit the dust that day would have a Boot Hill bed.
I was just twelve years old, green and scared as hell.
I crouched down and hid behind the old abandoned well.
I watched them kickin’ up the dust that motley outlaw hoard.
I saw each man’s gritty stare before the gunfire roared.
The battle, short and bloody, settled up the score.
Men who’d lived and breathed would live and breathe no more.
The gun smoke slowly cleared and the street was safe again.
Pools of blood mixed with dust beside the fallen men.
I rushed into the crowded street that oozed the smell of death.
The air was thick and sour. I had to gasp for breath.
I was searchin’ with a bad feelin’ for my brother Bill.
I hoped he still be alive if it was God’s will
Then I saw Billy layin’ there, all still and turnin’ gray.
I ran fast to his side, knelt down, began to pray.
But Billy had been shot dead and blood was on the moon
and them that was still livin’ went back to the saloon.
It’s been a real long time since that deathly day
but in my mind the carnage will never fade away.
Sometimes late at night
I recall that day and then
I swear I smell that sickly smell…
the smell of death and dead men.