THE BLACK CROWS

A grey dawn seeps uneasily
into a Nuremburg morn
In cells cold, bare and chilling
Men stand to face a last dawn

The Black Crows tread, seemingly
oblivious to their unjust task
Their gallows stand, stark still empty
Ready to take body and soul

The Crow's keys rattle
in the locks of the cells
of the doomed martred men
presuming to send them to Hell

Yet proudly not screaming
each man knows for sure
They'll soon join another
The Man gone before

And as the ropes drop
and the Martyrdom soars
To a place where they look down
Upon traitorous Black Crows




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