[Witty]

Depression: A Western.

The sun climbs the morning sky, scoarching the fettered land
By lunch time it's casting rays like a torch in the desert sand
Mirages - distorted views, contorted but never bland
As a bullet enters the chamber from the force of a weathered hand
Leather-like skin, wrinkled brow, eyes which never blink
A mind which spent it's life thinking what minds must never think
A killer - an outlaw, a battle hardened saddle sargeant
The Cowboy - watching whatever way the cattle charge in
The strife of a gun slinger, ending life with just one finger
Pull the trigger and -boom-, that fat lady is some singer
His vagrant eyes, gaze, vacant, upon baking skies
He lived a life of blatant lies, now he's patient as his fate arrives
Fate contrived to tame a killer, now he waits to die
He pictures them all, his victims, the big and the small
The old and the young, short and the wide, thin and the tall
He envisions the bullet hit, and he pictures them fall
If only he could choose again, a new path away from the pain
But he can't forgot those who died, each face will remain
The decay in his brain will stay 'til he meets Satan in flames
Now he's done with reallocating or displacing the blame
He stares at a lonely Raven, like he'll never see a Raven again
'Use those wings to fly, to a fresh and hopeful town
Leave me here to rot away, my flesh has broken down
Soar to the horizon, find some love within to dwell
Leave me here to die, in this unforgiving hell'

He told all his victims, if they're afraid, they can run
But death comes to all - there's No Escape from the gun
So he lifts his Smith & Wesson, now full to the brim
Because this old and weary gun slinger...saved his last bullet
...For him.