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Anecdotes of John Christopher Smith: In 1785, Mrs. Smith died

de William Coxe

I can't shake off the expression in my mind
Of the man I killed on the first of July
He was bigger than me, cold and bad
But I can't bear the weight of regret
When I walked into that saloon
I had been drinking since noon
In the dance of fate, we clashed that night
A moment of weakness, a misfortuned fight

I can't forget the look on the face
Of the man whose life I disgraced
I should have stayed home that fateful night
Or learned to chill and swallow my pride
When I pulled my gun, he made a feint
So I pressed the trigger, I'm not a saint
I should have waited a second or two
But now it's done, what can I do?

His gaze still haunts me, it's etched in my soul
A burst of anger that took it's toll
The echoes of the gunshot still remain
I didn't know him, but I felt his pain
Forgive me, lord, I'm on my knees
I didn't kill that man, it was the old me
I would do things differently if I could go back
'Cause I can't get his eyes out of my head

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