The Preacher

I heard about Silver Creek From miners drunk on gin, Said the dead outnumbered living there And the devil dealt them in. They said Murphy’s till stayed open While the graveyard stretched its claim, And every week another fool Was buried without a name. So I rode on over from Denver With my Bible black and worn, Certain God had chose my hands To pull lost souls from thorns. But the moment that I reached that place The wind felt wrong somehow… Like evil sat there grinning Beneath the saloon’s dark brow. And every time I came to Murphy’s Somebody else was dead, Another cross beneath the cottonwoods, Another prayer unsaid. I preached redemption through the smoke Till the barkeep laughed and said... “Preacher, this town feeds on sin… And sin keeps folks well fed.” First it was poor One-Eyed Joe With piano in his veins, Then Baby Blue and that strange cowboy Laid out in the rain. Elsie and the horse thief laid low Then Rosie and the sheriff swinging Slow beside the dawn… Every time I rode back through Another soul was gone. I stood outside them batwing doors And shouted till I bled, Warned the miners, warned the dancers, “Judgment’s overhead!” But whiskey always drowned me out, Laughter cut me through … And behind the bar that barkeep smiled Like he already knew. And every time I came to Murphy’s The darkness only spread, Another widow dressed in black, Another body cold and dead. I cursed that saloon straight to hell Till the barkeep slammed a chair... Said, “Keep preachin’ fire long enough… And I'll get you closer to that god of yours ya hear!” Late one night I heard the music… Though Joe’d been dead for months. Saw shadows dancin’ through the windows Where no living body stood. Blue still twirlin’ in smooth satin… Rosie laughing low and in red… Sheriff drinking with sweet Elsie… Like the whole damn town weren’t dead. So I stole powder from the miners Down by Rattlesnake ravine, Filled a wagon full of judgment For the wicked and obscene. Barkeep caught me near the stable, Just leaned back and softly laughed … He said, “Preacher… do you hate this place that youll cleanse it all with flame?” Something in his voice felt crooked, Smooth as oil and twice as dark… But rage had drowned what sense I had And lit me like a spark. Sunday night I rolled into Murphy’s While the town drank loud and blind… And struck the fuse with shaking hands A Certain God stood by my side. Then the fire swallowed Murphy’s Like hell had split the earth, Glass and timber, screams and bourbon All exploding in the burst. Miss Murphy burned above in her room, Miners crushed beneath the beams… And I stood there laughing scripture While the roof came down with a scream. But fire don’t cleanse what’s evil… It just feeds what’s underneath. The barkeep crawled out smiling With no burn marks on his teeth. Miners buried what was left there Under soot and broken stone… While I wandered through the ashes I thought a Certain God had took me home. Now some nights when moonlight hits Them ruins black and thin… You can hear a preacher holler Over ragtime and violin. Joe still plays for rosie dancing, Blue still sways soft in satin… Sheriff drinks beside sweet elsie… And Murphy pours a drink or two. And behind the bar a shadow grins With eyes like furnace coal… Still pouring out another round For every damned lost soul.