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Marching to the guillotine, fully despised by the royal guard

Surrounded by flies, Towards the decapitation device, I´m guilty.

In a few minutes blood will gush from my head as it rolls across the field and my body lay dead.

Gasping, agonizing, exhaling the fear of the unknown.

Hastening step, watching the footprints of the other men.

The noble scum contrasts among the crowd in this major event of butchery.

Fuck you my majesty, we meet in hell; Your throne will be the lap of the devil.

My last words came out tearing my throat, echoing to all those imbeciles standing around

A blow in the stomach made me silent while the shouting increased more and more.

Pulled by the shoulder, leaning over the stage, the next in line to die

The sun hits the edge of the blade reflecting a beam of light

Lying on the board, seconds before having my head separated from my body

That beautiful voice that gets ever closer, comforting me, one last breath until the sound of metal scraping reaches me.

Memories, a sweet taste that adrenaline gives me

Blurring my vision, overshadowing my pain

I follow this trail of blood that blooms in my path,

The shape of remorse is lost, is lost in this sea of darkness

Marching to the guillotine