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He was just a ranch hand, Dirt , sweat and sun tanned. Folks misunderstand, The courage that it took, The fear that he faced, In God’s wasteland. Picking crops, as he kneeled, Heard a young woman squeal. Shots on a battlefield, A man sprinted fast. Smoke choked out his mouth, A gun had been revealed. Our hero he was feeling scared. The man running seemed impaired. “Stop now!” he declared. The bastard didn’t stop, Hopped the fence by the church. The killer would not be spared. The ranch hand ran real fast. The sky now was overcast. He caught the man at long last. The drunkard slid down, Slipped out of his coat. The town would not be harassed. The rancher lifted up his gun, pointed the barrel to the sun, Shot rounds one by one. Six shots full of lead, Everything his flesh. The bastard now he was done. Sheriff came out the back, Saw the man dressed in black, Grateful for the payback. He felt depressed about his son, If he hadn’t stopped to drink, Could he have stopped the attack? Our hero had no words to say, But the sheriff thanked him anyway. The ladies thanks they conveyed. They grabbed the man by the cheeks, And covered him up in lips, But he just wanted to pray. The man dropped to his knees, Pled with God “forgive me please.” He felt a fresh and foreign breeze. The man knew the sign, Knew it was sure to be the Lord. And his heart began to ease. ______________________________ Listen what I have to say, And then you can go away. The rancher may have saved the day. He knew killing was a sin, But had God forgiven him? A debt he still felt he should repay. The rancher raised up his gun. The chamber still contained one. He knew he soon would be done. He put the metal to his lips, Tasted the smoky taste of death. His last thoughts were of his mom.