| The wolf’s laugh eerie cracks the humid night air
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| The rabbit freezes the fox in his lair
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| The owl hoots shrilly searching the dark
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| The moon white flangs through the trees tall and stark
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| Who would emerge on a night like this
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| Who would loose his bonds and greet the air with a hiss
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| The battered Christian bow his head in despair
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| The crown of sharp thorns revealed 'neath his hair
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| His scrawny body worn thin by the trial
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| Stands taut and painful on the pilgrim’s last mile
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| A million fleshy things converge upon the spot
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| His eye retort the atmosphere is hot
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| The wolf sniffs ivory fanged he bristles up his spine
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| The fox smiles knowingly but dares not step out of line
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| Through the twisting crushing silence the broken Christian creeps
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| Each footstep like a thunderclap amongst the trunky deeps
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| No bird makes sound no creature moves to break the gripping air
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| And the Christian he raises his hand up to his mouth
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| But for a whisper he cannot dare
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| The Christian wakes trembling with sweat
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| The cell’s dark walls stony and wet
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| Metallic echoes as the bolts are drawn back
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| The doors swing inwards dull light through the crack
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| The jailer looks indifferent to him
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| A routine morning martyr’s death for him
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| A misty cold sad morning greets the Christian’s haggard grin
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| The rope is slung and the noose is tied, and Christian’s neck is thin
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| The block is raised he stands erect, the rope beneath his chin
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| They pull the block and the Christian drops
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| He hangs above the sin |