The Headsman

The morning sun beam
 Finds a man in black
 With a cruel face
 No marks of grace
 The tools of his trade
 Seem scary on the back
 Against the wall
 He uses them all
 Seeing him makes grown men weep
 The eyes of him bear flesh decree
 And his axe puts men to sleep
 Eternal
 Doomed in line
 Waiting for the call
 Staring at the traces of blood all around
 Their lined faces
 Hearing the sound of that
 Man's head dropping to the floor
 Falling axe
 Sprays blood on the wall
 Another head to the top of the mound
 Quiet whining
 Echoes from the walls
 The last words before the blood pours
 Master of his craft
 Everybody's scared
 To use his skill
 It is the kill
 In the solitude lives
 Because no one dared
 To be with him
 His name is grim
 Seeing him makes grown men weep
 The eyes of him bear flesh decree
 And his axe puts men to sleep
 Eternal
 Doomed in line
 Waiting for the call
 Staring at the traces of blood all around
 Their lined faces
 Hearing the sound of that
 Man's head dropping to the floor
 Falling axe
 Sprays blood on the wall
 Another head to the top of the mound
 Quiet whining
 Echoes from the walls
 The last words before the blood pours