The Saint

Caleb was eight when they found him In the spring of '65 In a field where he hid while deserters rode in And burned his whole family alive 48 miles away was a mission Father Rhein took the boy in to raise Said he'd never had told him to fire that gold navy If he'd known the hell to be paid But he gave young Caleb his Bible And just before he rode off in the night The boy held it up, and he smiled as he quoted From Romans, "Vengeance is mine" Now the newspapers call him a killer And the common man calls him a saint But in the land of the godforsaken Sometimes they're one and the same He took three of them down in El Paso One more in a Kansas hotel Someone heard him say, "This one's for mother" As he sent the fifth one to hell Now there's stories from Springfield to Denver How this quiet man nobody knows Has done what the local law wouldn't Dodging bullets like some kind of ghost And the newspapers call him a killer And the common man calls him a saint But in the land of the godforsaken Sometimes they're one and the same One and the same Now the Pinkertons got tired of choking On his gone dust again and again So after a few years, they strung up a drifter So this time they finally got their man And the newspapers called him a killer And the common man called him a saint But in the land of the godforsaken Sometimes they're one and the same One and the same Sometimes they're one and the same