Beneath the blood-red evening sky,
In 1809, where shadows lie,
A lone rider forged of grit and flame,
A specter known but without a name.

His Colt speaks truths the tongue won’t dare,
Its smoky whispers fill the air.
An outlaw, a savior, the damned combined,
A fractured soul, a fate unkind.

Yet in his heart, a fire burned,
For justice, his allegiance turned.
Where chains and cruelty ruled the land,
He stood for those who could not stand.

They thought him dead, his tale at rest,
Buried deep in the canyon’s chest.
His blood-soaked deeds, the legend told,
A man of iron, his heart ice-cold.

But death, it seems, was not the end,
For time itself began to bend.
Awoken not by heaven’s call,
But by a world of glass and sprawl.

—

When his eyes first met the neon glow,
A storm of questions began to grow.
Steel beasts roared on endless streets,
And faceless crowds with hurried feet.

The skyline stood, an iron maze,
A future bathed in electric haze.
No desert winds, no canyon’s song,
Just towers rising, cold and strong.

His Colt, his only tether to past,
Now an artifact in a world so vast.
Yet in his hand, it felt the same,
A relic bound to his timeless name.

—

The Boulevard of Ire awaited still,
Its curse transcending time and will.
For in this future, dark and near,
Justice and chaos were cloaked in fear.

He wandered through the modern din,
A ghost of vengeance, born of sin.
The lawless spirit of times long gone,
Now faced a world where order shone.

But order here wore a polished guise,
Behind the screens, the same dark lies.
The powerful preyed, the weak were used,
The rider’s purpose once more infused.

—

He finds himself in battles new,
For those oppressed, he always knew.
A cyber king, a tyrant’s reign,
A future drowning in wealth and pain.

The Colt, once feared in dusty towns,
Now roared in alleys, on streets it pounds.
For though the time had changed its face,
The Boulevard remained his place.

—

Through echoes of his former life,
He wields his wrath, his endless strife.
For those in chains, his fury wakes,
A path of fire, the system shakes.

The world may shift, the years may turn,
But some fires will forever burn.
The rider rides, both feared and dire,
Through The Colt, Colt & Boulevard of Ire.