The dead man steps down from the scaffold.
He holds his bloody head under his arm…
Like the headless hunter,
he hunts for the heads to fill his collection.
He's not a mass murder,
he's just as sane as you and I,
he just wants to fill his
room with treasures.
And what is more beautiful than
a treasure filled with heads,
of men who deserved their own justice,
For it is his job to kill,
for he, the executor,
marks their end,
to their graves.
He fills his rooms with head,
in the grave.