Monday, June 20, 2011

In Name and Blood



Pecked by the seagulls, hanging from the gallows
Twisting in the breeze, dripping something on the streets
I can see him from my window, they can see him from the water
Just a victim of the press gang


I knew him when he was breathing
He was a good man, he was a young man
He was like you, he was like me
It could've been you, 
It should've been me