Jet black raven eyes fix steely stare on condemned men
Talons sink deep, tender nerves scream
Far away a bell tolls ,calls out the roll
To mark the hour when justice cries out for her reward
Golden strands of light weave twisted webs to bind the hands
Of dangerous boys while men in robs paint morality
To which lesser beings adhere and disciples fear
No objections are heard in case of damnation
Wot a lot of fussin
What about your cousins back in Africa
Heavens cry, binded hessian grows taught and sharp
Severing shallow flesh,eyes bulge and limbs limp
Silent feet shuffle by ,take heed of swinging feet
Up above wine flows in celebration of lessons learnt
Confused children cannot comprehend the empty chair
The unsoiled boots that lay beneath the blackened hearth
Toiled by wrinkled women, tired of child, starch white pride
No more to cross the road of degradation
Wot a lot of fussin
What about your cousins back in Africa
Present squalor in pale shadow of depravity
That courts time ,sleeps with death, drinks the blood of life
In dark taverns frequented by tragic souls seeking peaceful sleep
Ten mouths,nineteen eyes seek satisfaction at dawn
Creaking scaffold of virgin wood, deafening whispers
Murmured by gathered clans, assembled by fear
Who beats the dry funeral drum,treads heavily on conscious minds
To serve to remind those without vision,beware of seeking sight
Wot a lot of fussin
What about your cousins back in Africa
Dancing mists lay low, mimicking embers of unseasoned wood
Awaiting the appointed hour with the expectation of a young bride
Hesitating the arrival of her drunken demanding groom
Daylight breaks through to register her disapproval of squalid deeds
Secret man attired in hangman's hood to ply his trade
Excited dogs,fearful cats,children do not play
Stool kicked from beneath,sinew stretch like poultry feet
Gallows shake but small twigs survive the tempest storm
Wot a lot of fussin
What about your cousins back in Africa
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