Nobody Calls Me Chicken

At first

This knife fight had begun

And with a straight blade crossed neck the other's done

Their intentions: Gone fermenting

And then

The blood (just) like the bulls

Began to run sure as will rise

The sun, end will/could/have come

Just as quick as their battle had begun

A straight blade crossed a neck

And the two became or becomes

The one

Ends came, run

(Run for it, Marty!)

(Sure I'll meet you there)

Seven P.M. sharp

Still checks his wrist

(For the status on)

His lack-of-clock scars

(Great Scott!)