If she floats she’s wicked,
and if she sinks she’s out of sight,
let the water come between us a guilt,
and we’ll carry on despite

“Lord have wrath on you” she cried,
as they tied her to the chair,
but what can be the harm in wrath,
between a hundred of us shared?
One life is a small cost to pay,
to ensure our own health and lives,
she drowned for our children,
our parents and our wives.

Another one hasn’t surfaced.
Silent stillness becomes trite.
Bring out the others!
I bet we got some right!
Justice! We roar as she rises,
and the mayor stands tall and staid,
“God’s work is done,
thanks to the sacrifices we made.”
Word in the village,
is that Mrs. Smith has got black hands,
as when her husband left her,
death captured his land.
Mrs. Smith, she baked us bread,
when I was but a maid,
she’s in Church each Sunday,
oh the part that she has played!
Best to play it safe,
how else could we sleep tonight?
For if she floats she’s wicked,
And if she sinks… well, she’s out of sight.


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