We sing the chorus, and we understand

That body hanging from the poplar tree

has ripened, and become a stinking fruit 

for each of us to sorrow when we see

how easily the gentle turns to brute,

smiling at how the fragile human clay

for liars’ honor has robbed their good day.

The wind unkindly moves it to and fro,

while vultures gorge upon the rotting meat, 

and happy perjurers stand smiling so

the ones beyond the flambeaux know defeat.

It does not matter what the preachers say,

for liars’ honor has robbed their good day

and almost silently the worn out weep

their sorrow whispered into the cold dark 

while there’s no vigil their allowed to keep

to ease the stroke of a horror so stark 

that they know just uselessly they pray,

for liars’ honor has robbed their good day.

The mayor, and the worthies of the town,

long ago chose to command unjust death,

without a moment in which they might frown

at thought of smothering a human breath.

This, for the townsfolk, is all they could say,

for liars’ honor has robbed their good day.

We are told, now, that there is rule of law,

and there’s no longer need to be afraid 

of men whose giving hand is grasping claw,

and for whom murder’s just another trade.

But they feel only prideful when they slay,

for liars’ honor has robbed their good day.

There’s true indecency that’s scribed this play,

for liars’ honor has robbed their good day.