Crossfire

Crossfire

It was a duel to the death as the story went,
between two gentlemen on Crossfire Ridge.
A beautiful woman and two men hell bent,
three miles beyond the old covered bridge.

It wasn't a long ride, ten minutes at best.
Who would win, would be answered soon.
Sun rise in the east, moon set in the west,
one left dead in a casket around noon.

Both after the affections of a lady in lace,
a lone man would meet his maker today.
A duel to the death for a woman's pretty face,
a cruel test of courage, you could say.

Back to back they counted twenty paces,
two pistols fired, they both fell to the ground.
Honorable men down to their shoe laces,
neither one gave in, for both were too proud.