with the curfew still in force.
The streets are even clearer
Like an evil bird of prey,
the scaffold spreads its wings.
The people build their fires
The mayor is giving dinner
to the officers and wives
His eldest son is learning how to form
The barrack block is host and tense,
the soldiers drawing lots
Who will be the hangman in the dawn?
The lot falls on a young man
who has served for but a year
His home is in the village close nearby
He shivers at the thought
of what he's forced to do next day
And he wonders who it is that has to die
The full moon casts a cold light
on the gloomy prison walls
The papist walks his cell, he cannot sleep
He hears the waiting gallows
the muffled drums begin to sound
The crowd begins to gather in the square
The presence of the hangman
The colonel reads the sentence
which the papist knows by heart
He has failed to show allegiance to the king
His crime is thus with God himself,
The paper's kettle high, says not a thing
The jailer binds his hands,
puts the blindfold to his eyes
He leads him through the door,
The hangman sees his victim,
and the blood drains from his face
The hangman tries to protest,
but is ordered to proceed
His trembling hands begin
