The blocks were closed around my neck, The splintered hole burned my neck sore. The blade would come tumbling to my neck, And I would see daylight no more.
The King has summoned me to death, He said that I had been disloyal. Soon I would swallow my last breath, To end a life of stress and toil.
And now the black-masked man he comes, To release the blade of destiny... T'was not the blade that gave me death, The crime of injustice gave death to me.
When I was a child in the early 1960's, I was obsessed with the writing of Edgar Allan Poe. I actually thought at one point that I may have been Poe in a previous incarnation! When I was twelve, the following poem came through me after a dream which reinforced the Poe connection.