and the prisoner was turned
With his back to the whip and the crown
And the judge washed his hands
And his weakness was starting to show
As the whiplash did sing,
he said, here is your king
And the whiplash did sing,
he said, here is your king,
And the hands that caressed him,
the hands that had blessed him,
became white fists of rage.
And the palms that were raised
to the new king they praised
Became whips for the lowest of slaves
and mouths that had cheered him
Turned foul and began to accuse
With his blood that was spilled
Was it your fist I saw raise?
heard scream for his blood?
Your mouth that was twisted with rage
when they started to sing
I know it was you, for I was there too
as the man held his wrists,
for the terrible kiss off the nose
And the crowd held its breath
as the crosspiece of death
With its burden was suddenly raised
when they started to sing