22 de febrero de 2011

La balada de Boot Hill

En 1881 tuvo lugar uno de los sucesos más truculentos en la historia del salvaje oeste. El tiempo del Old West tocaba a su fin, y una nueva forma de vida pretendía instalarse en los páramos donde pistoleros, serpientes de cascabel e indigenas habitaban sin demasiada armonía.
Con el ferrocarril llegaron las escuelas, los servicios públicos, la autoridad y las damiselas. En Tombstone, Arizona, tuvo lugar el enfrentamiento en el O.K. Corral. Un tiroteo que inspiró numerosas películas, canciones y poemas.

Me gustaría compartir la letra de un homenaje hecho canción. El hombre de negro, Johnny Cash, cantando a la colina de las botas.

One day in 1881, the Tombstone epitaph in a booming paper and a silver mining town screamed out the headlines about a fight at the O.K. Corral. The headlines read ‘Murder in the Streets of Tombstone. Well, that wasn’t such hot news, but more stark and spine-chilling than that was the site on the boardwalk in front of the epitaph building. Neatly laid out in beautiful caskets were the bodies of Tom McGlowery, Frank McGlowery, and young Billy Clanton, 28 years old. A witness at the trial later said that he saw Doc Holiday blast away with a nickel-plated pistol and Billy Clanton screamed, “Don’t shoot me! I don‘t want to fight.” Today there’s more silver mining in Tombstone, but up there on Boot Hill, you can see where the graves of the men are. The ones who fought over or because of a big silver strike that created Tombstone.
Here lies less more four slugs from a forty-four, no less no more

Out in Arizona just south of Tucson
Where tumbleweeds tumble in search of a home
There's a town they call Tombstone where the brave never cry
They live by a six-gun, by a six-gun they die

It's been a long time now since the town was a boom
The jailhouse is empty, so's the Palace Saloon
Just one look will tell you that this town was real
A secluded old dirt road leads up to Boot Hill

Walk up to the fence there and look at the view
That's where they were hanging 1882
It's easy to see where the brave men have died
Rope marks on the oak tree are now petrified

At night when the moon shines so far away
It gets mighty lonesome looking down on their graves
There lies Billy Clanton never wanted to kill
But he's there with the guilty, way up on Boot Hill

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