Copyright © 2026 https://suno.com/@mich_bergde Mike Berg All rights reserved. Dust was hanging in the noonday light, Main Street quiet, held its breath tight. Swinging doors and a whiskey sign, Trouble walking straight down the line. Long coat dragging through the dirt, Boot heels echo, desert shirt. No one knew where Bryce came from, Just that he left when the job was done. They called him Old Blue Eyes Bryce, Hard as steel, cold as ice. Four queens hiding up his sleeve, Smiled like sin you’d best believe. Gambler, rambler, rolling the dice, Every town paid Bryce’s price. Firewater burned but kept him steady, Colt on his hip always ready. His only friend that never lied Was that black horse by his side. Wind cut hard across his face, Dust and danger in one place. Some men talk, some men pray, Some men fold and walk away. But when that church bell starts to chime, You know it’s duel time. Draw, draw — let the smoke rise high, Sun beats down on a blood-red sky. One man falls and one survives — That’s the way the West decides. No badge, no law, no alibi, Just steady hands and a watchful eye. When the dust clears, you’ll understand — Old Blue Eyes Bryce still stands. Sheriff’s shadow crossed the street, Spurs kept time like a nervous heartbeat. Sweat rolled slow down temple bone, Two men facing fate alone. Crowd pulled back against the wall, Waiting for the first man to fall. Wind went silent, breath went thin, Finger twitched against the spin. One flash bright beneath the sun — Two shots fired, but only one won. Draw, draw — hear the thunder crack, One man’s future don’t come back. Echo fades across the land, Dust slips through an open hand. No cheers, no tears, no goodbye cry — Just a horse and a lowering sky. When the smoke drifts through the sand — Old Blue Eyes Bryce still stands. He tipped his hat, didn’t look behind, Left another ghost in the wind’s design. No roots grown, no name carved deep, Just stories the saloons will keep. Draw, draw — let the legend rise, Steel in hand and truth in his eyes. Town by town, from sand to sand — He rides alone across the land. When the cards are dealt and the bullets fly, Only the steady survive. And when the sun sets low and grand — Old Blue Eyes Bryce still stands. Dust behind him, fading light, Horse and rider out of sight. No one knows where he will land — But he’ll be the last man standing.
