Hang 'Em High

Stamped against the lightening sky, defiant gallows Beckon, and I, hooked toward the glamour of death Where consumptive dawn draws bloody breath, Heaving her scarlet bones aloft serrated peaks That bite into a day of judgement rising bleak. Of this crime to which I fell, the gibbet end Understood, and quell down the throat with fraying fist That, words strangled, Satanically hissed; Feet kicking a jig through a void in the air, Scuffed flailing boots flying nowhere. How in Hell can it be that I was so wrong? Clueless and mindless, my own constitution Springing the trap at my own execution, Arranged and played out by my own tarot touch; When you love something, how can you love too much?