The Outlaw

It was 3:05 by the watch
that I held out from my vest
when Cole Younger rode into town,
with fifteen holes in the leather hide
strapped across his chest,
and a forty-five, holstered and tied down.

Forty-five things to think about,
six ways to die.
Then a stranger called his name
and he made a grab for fame;
I can still hear that stranger's widow cry.

Cole Younger crossed the dusty street
to a seat up on the porch
by an old man in a rocker who smiled.
It seems that they were friends
from somewhere long ago;
they sat and shot the breeze for a while.

Forty-five things to talk about.
Six ways to die.
Seems somewhere long ago
when the old man was too slow,
Cole Younger couldn't let him die.

Cole Younger paid the price
as every outlaw does:
twenty-five years in a cell.
But just a quarter of a century later,
like the outlaw that he was,
he walked away with a story to tell.

and forty-five things to remember.
Six ways to die.
Well now them old days are done,
no more livin' by the gun;
but what a wonderment to breath and be alive.

Yes them old days are done,
no more livin' by the gun.
In the autumn of the year
Cole Younger died.