Ballad of a Dead Man

BALLAD OF A DEAD MAN

My dear stranger, a moment, I pray,

as I address you from beyond the grave,

as I myself approach that very grave.

Of your time the poet only asks the smallest speck,

a moment to hear the dead man's ballad is sought:

Before there's a noose around my neck

and under my feet there's nought.

Frankly, a villain I am, there's no denying:

that my life was that of drinking, thieving, lying.

A victim or two, too, I left bleeding and dying.

I confess! I am a horrid sinner, a moral wreck,

and the worst of my sins was to get caught.

Soon there's a noose around my neck

and under my feet there's nought.

The Legion boys, my hosts, should be told:

too generous they were with beatings & bread mold.

If I could their kindness return, I would, tenfold.

Listen! With shackles they come me to deck,

and drag me to the grim tree they've wrought.

Soon there's a noose around my neck

and under my feet there's nought.

Stranger, pray for me for I am dead.

Cold walls to my right, to my left,

and a beam above my head,

but there's a noose around my neck

and under my feet there's nought.

PS. Send my regards, if you can, to Horatio Gargonath, that pompous oaf. I wish him and his rubbish poetry all the worst in the world.

PPS. I believe it's raining outside. This just isn't my day. Farewell!