| All men kill the thing they love
|
| By all let this, by all let this be heard
|
| All men kill the thing they love
|
| By all let this, by all let this be heard
|
| I never saw a man who looked with such a wistful eye
|
| Upon that little tent of blue which prisoners call the sky
|
| And at every drifting cloud that went with sails of silver by
|
| In Reading Gaol by Reading town there is a pit of shame
|
| And in it lies a wretched man eaten by teeth of flame
|
| The man had killed the thing he loved
|
| And so he had to die
|
| All men kill the thing they love
|
| By all let this, by all let this be heard
|
| Some kill their love when they are young
|
| And some when they are old
|
| Some strangle with the hands of Lust
|
| Some with the hands of Gold
|
| The kindest use a knife, because
|
| The dead so soon grow cold
|
| And there, till Christ call forth the dead
|
| In silence let him lie
|
| No need to waste the foolish tear
|
| Nor heave the windy sigh
|
| The man had killed the thing he loved
|
| And so he had to die
|
| All men kill the thing they love
|
| By all let this, by all let this be heard
|
| All men kill the thing they love
|
| By all let this, by all let this be heard
|
| Some do it with a bitter look
|
| Some with a flattering word
|
| The coward does it with a kiss
|
| The brave man with a sword
|
| The man had killed the thing he loved
|
| And so he had to die
|
| All men kill the thing they love
|
| By all let this, by all let this be heard |