The Outlaw Josey Wales doesn't shoot so much anymore,
he has nothing to shoot at.

The sun blazes and it blazes and it burns all those under it
with extreme prejudice.

From the Alpha to the Omega the teeth of wolves are sharp
and they tear through flesh with such disregard.

Jack Kerouac is still writing, the ink still rolls from his pen on to paper
but now, thankfully, nobody knocks on his door.

Death will come once, and death will come for all,
and I'm sure when death comes, I will be cold
and all alone.