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The morning sun beam

Finds a man in black

With a cruel face

No marks of grace

The tools of his trade

Seem scary on the back

Against the wall

He uses them all

Seeing him makes grown men weep

The eyes of him bear flesh decree

And his axe puts men to sleep

Eternal

Doomed in line

Waiting for the call

Staring at the traces of blood all around

Their lined faces

Hearing the sound of that

Man's head dropping to the floor

Falling axe

Sprays blood on the wall

Another head to the top of the mound

Quiet whining

Echoes from the walls

The last words before the blood pours

Master of his craft

Everybody's scared

To use his skill

It is the kill

In the solitude lives

Because no one dared

To be with him

His name is grim

Seeing him makes grown men weep

The eyes of him bear flesh decree

And his axe puts men to sleep

Eternal

Doomed in line

Waiting for the call

Staring at the traces of blood all around

Their lined faces

Hearing the sound of that

Man's head dropping to the floor

Falling axe

Sprays blood on the wall

Another head to the top of the mound

Quiet whining

Echoes from the walls

The last words before the blood pours