Heads Will Roll...
My name is Cyril; I am,
Or was, assistant to Samson the executioner,
Master of the Guillotine
In the Place de la Concorde in Paris;
Samson has cut off the heads
Of king and queen, commoner and aristocrat--
He says they all chop the same, no blue blood,
It's all red...I can vouch for that;
I'm the lad who mops it all up
How I longed to pull the lever,
Bring the great blade down, hear the slicing snap
Of severed flesh and bone--I've often begged
My boss, but he always says NO...
I'd love to see the guillotine come down
On his fat neck, the pig!
One night I went down to Montmartre
And sat in a smelly tavern for a drink...
A woman came and sat with me, her face
Covered with rouge and powder; she wasn't
Young or pretty, but I bought her a bottle of gin
And joked and flirted with her as she drank...
"You want to see something exciting?" I asked,
And she leered and said she would...
I bought her another bottle and we went off
Through dark alleys, to the P