A voice of foul festivity hangs in the air devouring the squires of mercy trembling near the gibbet gathering in the shadow of the gallows a stifling silence overcomes the crowd as the deadman makes his first appearance on the scene

Roars of support for the king demanding revenge on the traitor death is what they need to satisfy their hunger noose placed slowly around the throat a final gaze moves across the crowd

Forty thousand strong all anxious for the drop rows of corpses fill the elm trees where they will remain for months


Lyrics submitted by Frances-The-Tool

Tyburn Field song meanings
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