The drums sounded out their monotonous roll, The sullen spectators raised a gentle sigh, The line of men by the castle rode, The jack-booted hordes that went marching by. What a way for men to behave, The stench of death and stagnant grave.
This was the hour, the hour of death. The offenders stood by the castle wall. This was their hour, their hour of death. How straight they stood, how straight and tall, As if no thoughts were in their head, That inside a minute they'd all be dead.
But why should such things be there? They'd seen it before, many times before. Quick, violent death, they'd seen their share Simply the shutting of life's eternal door. A blessing really in its way, A welcome death in sorrowful array.
A voice rang out! As one the murderers levelled and aimed. That voice again, such a guttural shout Why must it always be the same? An irregular crack, someone screamed. I woke up sweating, what a thing to have dreamed.
