| Billy Gray rode into Gantry way back in '83
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| There he first met with young Sarah MacLane
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| The wild rose of morning, the pale flower of dawning
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| Hurled a springtime into Billy’s life that day
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| Sarah she could not see the daylight of reality
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| In her young eyes Billy bore not a flaw
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| Knowing not her chosen one, he was a hired gun
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| Wanted in Kansas City by the law
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| Then one day a tall man came riding from the Badlands
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| That lie to the north of New Mexico
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| He was overheard to say, he was looking for a Billy
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| Gray
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| A wanted man and a danger said law
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| Well the news it came creeping to Billy fast sleeping
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| There in the Clarendon Bar and Hotel
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| He ran to the old church that lies on the outskirts
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| Thinking he’d hide in the old steeple bell
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| But a rifleball came flying, face down he lay dying
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| There in the dust of the road where he lay
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| Sarah ran to him, she was cursing the lawman
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| The poor girl knew no reason, except that he’d been
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| Killed
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| Sarah still lives in that old white frame house
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| Where she first met Billy some forty years ago
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| But the wild rose of morning has faded with the dawning
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| Of each day of sorrow the long years have grown
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| And written on the stone where the dusty winds have
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| Long blown
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| Eighteen words to a passing world say
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| «True love knows no season, no rhyme or no reason
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| Justice is cold as the Granger County clay.»
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| «True love knows no season, no rhyme or no reason
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| Justice is cold as the Granger County clay.» |