Let me tell a story that was told one time to me,
By people who had had it told to them.
By their fore-fathers, and their four mothers.
It was a little eight person travelling troupe of story-telling parents,
But that's not the focus of the tale. (Sorry)
What's important is the story of a stranger,
Who came riding on his horse on a dusty trail.
He's embellishing by saying that it was a dusty trail,
But I think it's pretty safe to a**ume.
That the road-building methods of the time,
Would have been quite crude...to say the least.
Actually, strictly speaking, to say the least would have been to do this (pauses) Yeh.
But you get the idea.
No one knew where he came from,
No one knew who he was.
But presumably his parents and a few childhood chums knew him.
Roh! Roh!
Hee!
Roh! Roh!
YAAH... I won't f**ing do it!
No more!
It's just a little act of mine!
He rode a horse, a great black steed,
And Spirit was his name.
The horse's name, not the bloke.
The finest gambler in the county,
He broke all the ladies' hearts
I'm still talking about the horse.
The man rode round performing acts that may have broke the law,
Or angered someone in some other way.
So subsequently he was inevitably caught up with,
By some state- or county-appointed figure of authority,
Or local strong man...
Roooooar!
Or f**head.
Unnecessary.
One fateful day...Or night.
Brought before a judge or jury,
He may have been put to d**h.
Or he may have escaped,
In some exciting way... Or boring way,
Like a legal loophole.
There he goes!
Riding into the sun,
He dissolves into a vapour as he nears the burning orb...
Or maybe it's just a metaphor.
Yes, definitely a metaphor!