They stare at her, the crowds, the throngs She keeps her head down as the cart bumps along To the front, where her bane creeps closer still If she doesn’t take a step, the blade surely will She swallows down the useless tears She was but a lady of thirty-seven years Her life begins flashing before her sky-blue eyes She visits each place one more time before she dies Lovely music in the theatres of Austria Living in the splendour of a grand palace in Vienna A hall of mirrors, a planned wedding day On the sixteenth of the merry month of May Warm summers in the Schönbrunn gardens - She steps on the executioner’s foot and begs her pardon Some were silent; some called her ****** names They were still shouting when the time finally came She hoped for a world much better than this The blade sliced her neck like a goodbye kiss.
I should probably post this on October 16 (the death anniversary of Marie Antoinette) but I'm scared I'll forget.