There's not a finer way to go
Than in the early morning
As the new sun rises
And burns the light fog away that sits along the shadow of the mountains.
Dew glistens on the tall grass while bright birds chirp and sing to the new day
The cool air is filled with moisture, with dirt, thick air with life in it.
There's not a more peaceful time to die than that.
It's a good spot under the large oak tree,
Nice shade and a decent view of the range
With a strong branch, for a rough roped noose.

A gruff voiced sheriff and a soft spoken judge
Passed the final sentence and kicked the chair away
While a somber silent minister stood swaying with the breeze
It was a fine morning to die on,
A fine morning to hang