Settle down. Put your boots on and saddle up. It's time to ride out of this town that you corrupt and head into another sunset where the dead you leave behind will spare someone else to grieve and seek revenge for their graves because buried they believe they embody everyone around.
Well, I'm dumbfounded and fed up enough to buy the blood from your diamond in the rough by pulling out the red carpet from under your blue suede shoes and use it to push my views onto these new cowboys telling ghost stores like campfire memories. They'll light a bonfire in your honor and burn till they forget the footsteps that you made when you could walk on water.
The part that you play is hard to fake.
The mark that you make is a scar.
For every martyr there's a murderer not far behind with a smile on his face because he found his place as your partner. He's your own kind. You're your own kill. The part you play. The mark you make.