Counting

The longest coldest hall,
I was sent to count them all.
‘Tis here I’ll sit upon the ground,
And count those things that I have found.

One, the child whose breath pricked at me,
I punished him on count of three.
Two, the man that could not walk,
He would not, could not hear me talk.
Three, the girl who stared ahead,
I left her there under my bed.
Four I do not quite recall,
There’s more, but I forget them all.

The longest, coldest, darkest, hall,
I was sent by order, by call.
‘Tis here I’ll sit upon the dirt,
And hold the title of murderer.