Caught between flux and flow,
A young man rides his day away.
Time stands still, and no one knows
What drives him through the heat today.
He aims it West, that charriet of his,
And puts the pedal to the floor.
He knows the way is hit or miss,
But he doesn’t care much anymore.
They took her from him in the night,
Those men, they dressed in black.
Beat her when she tried to fight,
And dared him to take her back.
So here he goes now on his way,
His lady in the balance.
Those men in black, they will all pay,
For his eyes are filled with malace.
He drives the car up to their base,
The house which he knows it to be.
He knows that there’s no time to waste,
And now’s not a time to flee.
He strides quickly to the door,
A shotgun firm in hand.
He kicks the frame down to the floor,
And yells “Face me like a man!”
“It’s her I want, not your life.”
Another voice is heard.
“She was my girl before your wife.”
Then not another word.
Two shots rung out in the air,
Two men fell amidst the noise.
Two dead men lay, a bloody pair,
It’s the scene her eyes avoid.
Her lover, though, was standing there,
A monument to man.
He hugged her tight, and held her hair,
And he took her by the hand.
The men in black they lay there,
Their black suits stained dark red.
Never was the gunfight fair,
And the two in black were dead.