Buzzards - The Sword, J. Robbins

He is a deadly and desperate man

On the run with gun in hand

Fleeing from the hangman’s noose

An outlaw with nothing to lose

A pack of wolves surrounds its prey

The mighty beast is brought to bay

The smell of blood is in the air

And soon the buzzards will claim their share

They gather round the gallows

They circle overhead

Stalking the wounded beast

Until it’s dead

Clouds pass before the moon

Eyes surround him in the gloom

A single bullet left in his gun

The buzzards wait till the morning comes