Late December - Gypsy

Weak from travelling tired and thirsty

He’s been two years on the road.

In pursuit of one who left him

And the man with whom she rode.

In his bag lies a revolver

In his eyes there’s only hate.

And he’s angered to discover

Once again he’s arrived too late.

On… on… and on he’ll be gone, in the morning

On till it’s gone, all the reason for his mourning.

It was evening Late December,

When he finally, he tracked them down.

In a cold flat they surrendered

Within moments two shots rang out.

Now his searching has been ended

And his reason for living too.

As the year closed that December,

It claimed his life and his soul too.