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Some call it whiskey. Some call her miss. Some say pour me another one. Others reminisce. It sees everything. It taunts everyone. Everybody has a Temptress. But that night, In the bar, The shame, the lies, the guilt Watched a man with a star Jump up! And then he grabbed his gun. Headed out the door And it was sure to be no fun. He heard another bang And knew exactly what to do. He sprinted really fast, Tripping over his own boots. He ran to the church, But he wasn’t in time. He saw the Man of God Laying down in a line Of blood. But then, He saw the drunken bastard Laughing with a grin, So he, Too drunken, in his state, Lifted up the gun And pointed at his face And shot. And missed. For he was a good shot, But those other shots he did. He shouldn’t be drinking When he is the law, But the liquor tasted good, And the scotch always calmed. That night, Was the sheriffs last drink. The tragic death of his son Would always make him think. He put down the bottle That damned day. And he never picked it up again. Hell no, no way!