On Tower Hill the people see
What there is left of me.
A shivering wreck.Insecure.
Some knowing that my soul is pure.
I say my farewell and my prayers.
Then I am stripped of my outer layers.
Into the hands of the executioner
I give a fee
For the duty that is his to dispose of Me.
Now that I am blindfolded and cannot See
Terror and weakness take its grasp on Me.
And as I am led up to the block
I tremble for I am in terrible shock.
Into the hollow I place my chin
And feel the churning from within.
Then am asked to spread my arms Out wide.
Oh how I wish that I could hide.
But my wish has come to late.
I cannot reverse my fate.
My head is severed.Blood has spilled.
No more can my life be fulfilled.
R