Sweating in sickness in a town
Where they bring out their dead
For the men to pile in wagons
I'm an outlaw it is said
I spit from my window above
Upon the flames burning down
This stake I am tied to
In the square of this town
Oh there must be some way out of here
Some place to which I can run
But the chains I can not shed
In this place with no sun
I saw in some future dream
That this place had become dry
Like a parched and lifeless bone
Like a feather from the sky
And none of these fine people
Were left to cast the first stone
They had given up living that way
And each had gone home
And only I was left here
Between the ashes and the dust
Waiting still at the dungeon walls
For the chains to rust