In thirteen hundred and seventy three
A man was building a terrible thing
He said to himself, 'Why, oh why must I'
He was building a guillotine
He crafted it well with a wonderful blade
And weighted it down with blocks
The king came around and said, 'What a wonderful machine
A new way to lop heads off! '
Why must I have built such a terrible thing
To cause such harm to another
'Because' said the king, I ordered it so
And to go against isn't wise my brother'
'The evil and their wicked ways
This they will have to face
May there be no surprise of their demise
When done are the acts of disgrace'
The King excited he could hardly wait
To deploy his created new toy
And soon was the first who had stolen a purse
A young man, some say still just a boy
The peasants they screamed as it cut off his head
And as it rolled under their feet
The King he said, 'This just won't do
Get a basket and place it beneath'
And so as it were many heads were lost
As the King ordered the beheading of heads
The people knew as the fear it grew
They nick named him, King of the Dread
But one day his kingdom overturned
For in battle that day he lost
And there before his own guillotine
He was knelt, before his own head was cut off
The last thing he said before the blade came down
He looked up and saw the blade
I wish I had never built such a terrible thing
Oh dread, oh dread, oh dread...
The moral of this story?
Beware how to others you do
For sometimes life it has it's way
To return such favors to you
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.