It’s an early March morning
There’s an overcast sky
Winds whipping through the pines

A man stands hillside
Alone & afraid
Accompanied by clattering chains
Theres a distant wagon in the valley
Each gallop growing closer
He begins to weep

He prays for a miracle
Maybe the wagon will crash
Just anything he begs

A crowd can be heard near
desperately he thrashes around
Kicking the cage  
Over & over
Surveying for help
All can be seen are the roaring pines

He grips the cage tightly
As it creaks open
Two men drag him out
Pulling him through the streets,
Brought down to his knees
He pleas, screams, mercy please

Everythings exhausted
He feels numb & defeated
As the Warden marches forward

Reaching for his big axe
The Warden overlooks the man
Raising his blade
The air becomes still
A small thud echoes through the town,
The wardens lip quivering to sight beneath his feet