LISTEN, LISTEN,
LISTEN
The King of Malevolence is wringing his hands,
dire prophets are snapping at his iron heels.
There is nothing left for him beneath the sun -
this death and destruction has already been done.
His cards (I noticed) had all been marked, and
the hangman had already colored his tree. At
the nearby saloon, the girls were taking odds
on how long it would take : would he linger writhing,
would he piss and crap his pants, would his neck
snapped once be enough? These were all good
questions of the moment. Over at Boot Hill,
Jardot the Snake had already dug a fearsome
hole and filled it twice already with his own
spit and venom. It should be a lovely day.
No guns would even be needed, though
Marshall Bleek and Sheriff Tawdry would,
I'm sure have their arms at the
ready.
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