Execution (French Revolution Poem) The bells are tolling, People lift their head to sigh, The heads are rolling, Be prepared to die. A new star is rising up, As the old all lay in slumber, Watch them sip blood from their cup, Among bodies stacked like lumber. Walk down roads thick with fear, And be careful to hold your tongue, If they catch you then your end is near, Be ready to run. The hounds of hell do howl, As death creeps up from behind, His smell is wretchedly fowl, His smile is wickedly kind. The Executioner chuckles, When your neck is on the block, A large blade unbuckles, Then the crowd is silent in shock.