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A poetic story of a man who makes a living collecting the heads of scum for his Queen. |
Heads roll leaving slippery red carpets Leading to the Queen's feet Bleeding posts with battered heads Bring them to their knees Collect them all one by one In her wicker baskets Please the queen with what you've done A penny for your thoughts Chuck them in the trophy room Take your pretty pence Another day, another line Heads rolling off the slab. Pick 'em up, line 'em up, count 'em up by three Wrap 'em up with a pretty bow Send them to the Queen Grind your axe and clean your stone It's time to go on home On your way they block your path The swiney men in three Enough's enough, you've done enough Now they bring you to your knees You can scream and cry until your eyes run dry But they will not hear your pleas With your face in the mud And the axe hanging over your head They do just as they must "A message to the Queen," they'll say As your head rolls down the street They'll catch it on their poking stick And call for all to see Down the street they'll dance and scream With the butcher's head for God to see They'll carry on up to the queen And taunt her on her throne Laughing, singing, carrying on She can do nothing but scream For no more fun can be had When no heads roll through her door |