The noose is waiting for you.
She whispers the names of
her past victims, caresses
your neck with her rough hands.

The sky, you sigh.
Today is a good day to die.
The wind echoes the
sympathies of others condemned.

The fire, once crackling in
anticipation of your flesh
now grumbles, fanned by
the very same air.

Beads of sweat mingle
with the salty tears in
their eyes as the chant
for your death begins.

Kill the witch.