the saloon
you strode out of the saloon
just before high noon
looking around to see
if I’d decided against the day
I stood there minding my own business
eating a rather messy vanilla slice
cream smeared all over my face and shirt
as your gaze found my sight
you swaggered your way towards me
in a Manchester in the 1990's style
dressed like the love child of Shaun Ryder
and an accent that made the roses stone
“hey you, mate” you vomited at me
“you used to be something, I heard”
I looked up from my cake and shrugged
“maybe once, too long ago to remember”
you came up to my face, eye to eye
as I was licking icing off my fingers
and grabbed my shirt as if to punch me
so you left me very little choice
turning and dropping to one knee
I held your hand tight to my body
and as you spun to the floor in an arc
your arm snapped at the elbow over my knee
I looked down and shook my head at your manly screams
such a far cry from the bravery of before
you let the first rule sway you
appearances can truly deceive
yes, I used to be something
and I still am, at least underneath
and I’ve known many brave idiots
just as you’ve proved yourself to be
just because a snake is older than it was
don’t be fooled, don’t think its venom’s weak
if you tread on it you’ll get a young bite
as now you’ve come to believe
still licking my fingers as the crowds came
I shook my head one last time and was gone
all your cowboy friends stayed in the saloon
knowing I’m still a number, if not number one
