The air is dense the night is dark
There is neither moon nor cloud
Just black of sky and black of field
And a heavy precipitous shroud
The carriage whispers; the wheels moan
Hooves beat with my heart
Marking time with Sorrow
As they pull along my cart
All too soon the horse stops
And a man unlocks my door
He pulls me roughly by the foot
And drags me to the floor
My voice is mute, my hands are numb
The atmosphere chokes my cries
Your hands... how red they are with blood
Of each innocent that dies
My wooden casement vibrates
As it falls limp to the ground
I am dragged, silent, to my bed
Never to be found