Hang 'Em High
Stamped against the lightening sky, defiant gallows
Beckon, and I, hooked toward the glamour of death
Where consumptive dawn draws bloody breath,
Heaving her scarlet bones aloft serrated peaks
That bite into a day of judgement rising bleak.
Of this crime to which I fell, the gibbet end
Understood, and quell down the throat with fraying fist
That, words strangled, Satanically hissed;
Feet kicking a jig through a void in the air,
Scuffed flailing boots flying nowhere.
How in Hell can it be that I was so wrong?
Clueless and mindless, my own constitution
Springing the trap at my own execution,
Arranged and played out by my own tarot touch;
When you love something, how can you love too much?
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