Labeled A Sin

Labeled as an outlaw,
as he rode on in to town
his boots strapped, fingers tatched
to a 45 above the ground
with a hoard of eyes all gazing in the wind,
and the towns mens hands all pointing to the end
Lowered his hat, to protect whats never seen
the perception less views of a empty dream
And he got off his Horse,
with a smile taking in,
and the sky filled with smoke,
as the rifles started to sing
Low land rider, bleeding peace in his skin
Sucking a last breath, of an ever pending sin