howdy Buster Scruggs, with your spurred boots

hanging in the air indifferently

as Dan trots among the mesas grazing the red sands of time

howdy Dan, you bring your fated passenger

as the valley sings around you

to a bartender’s last pour

howdy bartender, your cantina your shell

you believe invincible

as Surly Joe thought his draw

howdy Surly Joe, against a dead man’s hand

your iron triumphed by wood

makes your brother wail

howdy brother, your head clouded

with a debt for vengeance

that can only be collected by the man in black

howdy man in black, your harmonica a scythe

to close the pages

of Buster Scruggs’ book.