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Robert W Service - Gypsy Jill
Work rating: Low

They`re hanging Bill at eight o` clock,
          And millions will applaud.
He killed, and so they have to kill,
          Such is the will of God.
His brother Tom is on my bed
          To keep me comforted.

I see his bleary, blotchy face,
          I hear his sodden snore.
He plans that he can take Bill`s place;
          I felt worse than a whore
As in his arms I cried all night,
          Thinking of poor Bill`s plight.

I keep my eyes upon the clock;
          It nears the stroke of eight.
I think how bravely Bill will walk
          To meet his gallows fate . . .
His loaded gun is in the tent,—
          I know now what he meant.

Though Tom is boastful he will wed
          With me, no more to part,
I`ll put a bullet through his head,
          Another through my heart:
At eight, stone-dead we three will be,
          —Bill, Tom and me.
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