The Shopkeeper

Oh sweetness, Oh sweetness now dry all your tears

And don't waste your water over dead pistoleers

They come down from the canyons to sit in saloons

And there'll be a dozen more here by tomorrow afternoon

The man who shot your lover has gone on the train

And the card cheats and cowboys are back at their drink

They've done took his pistols, his belt and his boots

And what little's left of him, I guess, belongs to you

'Cause bullets break windows if you're lucky

They make widows when you're not