Robert-François Damiens, Giacomo Casanova

Broken on the Wheel

Wagon's old, not worth salvation
Angelic voices, a requiem and the wheel
Splintered to her touch
The wagon's load was scaffold
To build fleeting stages for lingering deaths
Something he said, now seems unreal,
"The world over, thou wilt not find
The demons that exist in the human mind"
And he a naturalist and scholar
Twas just luck it happened to rhyme
The cudgel came down fast upon him
Them wheels seen every gate in Paris
Shattered them bones through the spokes
Dragged by fine horses, all gone now
His mouth moved, he tried to speak
But his body was broken, poor soul
Oh there were fine gentlemen and ladies
Looking out from them fine buildings
There were even children among them
Not one part of that wagon was wasted
Like a farmer can use every bit of a pig
"The world over, thou wilt not find
The demons that exist in the human mind"
Was that what he was trying to say?
Butchery's an art executioners say
Rest of the wagon they used for his pyre
Not one bit went to waste. Fancy!

© Severn Dwyer. 2016

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