With steel on my fingers,
I smell of death,
Which forever lingers,
like the stench of bad breath.
The law cannot stop me,
for they cant match my speed.
Because I'm a gunslinger,
and its death that they need.
Many have called,
all of them failed.
I live with no conscience,
I'm the closest to hell.
Increasing my bounty,
they increase my pride.
My photos say wanted,
dead or alive.
Unsafe to settle,
forever I ride.
My gun always loaded,
strapped to my thigh.
All I give is death,
widows and strife.
My photos say wanted,
dead or alive.
saint cynosure ( Ken Bennight )
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/wanted-dead-or-alive-2/
