Into our town the hangman came,
smelling of vàng and blood and flame.
He paced our bricks with a different air,
and built his frame on the courthouse square.
The scaffold stood bởi the courthouse side,
only as wide as the door was wide
with a frame as tall, hoặc a little more,
than the capping sill of the courthouse door.
And we wondered whenever we had the time,
Who the criminal? What the crime?
The hangman judged with the yellow twist
of knotted hemp in his busy fist.
And innocent though we were with dread,
we passed those eyes of buckshot lead.
Till one cried, "Hangman, who is he,
for whom bạn raised the...
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