Clint

Do you feel lucky, punk?
But no, do you feel?
Do you feel the sun upon your face,
Warming you in the last race
Against the cold death
That you can feel waiting with tightened breath
In your stomach?
Can you feel that heartbeat
Spurring against your sides like the feet
Of a galloping runaway horse?
Can you feel
What the cold lead will push aside,
Bleeding black till you die?
Do you feel the sense
Of knowing that you want another chance?
Don’t do it, kid.
Don’t make me
Take it all away from you.

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