1/20/18 1:59 AM
It’s the oldest story ever told
You can see it in westerns
Filching through the shades as the lone wanderer strides
Confidently down the streets
Romantically daring violence
Itching frantically for an excuse
How many six irons do you think there are
In a town filled with pea shooters
Excess is in every corner
It’s there in Bollywood shrines to women and the men who deserve them
The dancing and swaying all for an inferno
Who is this serving?
Surely they know that the ones in black
With their beady eyes, itchy fingers and serpentine smiles
Couldn’t be the saviors they needed
It’s there in prime time death matches
Gravitas and hullabaloo
Two men fighting with padded knuckles
And we want them to be the winners both
It’s a thunderdome, you know
Two men enter, one man leaves
But we all keep rooting for a draw
We just love the walkup
How could you see the world as great men
When we glorify villains who defeat them
Mystery and violence, all in a bindle
Deathly sages who make the most wholesome characters half
All that lead up, and the bang
And the pow
And the snap
For an immoral victory
How can anyone root for the bad guy
Cutting from the same cloth
Who really stands to gain
From a handsome dark stranger on a prairie