Gloucester Gaol

Well, there were born two red clay sons of deep enchanted autumn,

soon they grew and sure they knew they heard their fortunes calling.

Ten long years on labour’s leash brought them only sorrow,

so on the eve of 1823, they wagered on tomorrow:

they’d fetch their pistols and gleaming blades,

their father’s horses, dappled grey,

the gentry they would fear the day,

these brothers came a-riding.

And one night on moonlit moor,

by wild woods and sleeping tor,

they rode to even out the score,

these brothers went a-riding.

Hey, where’s my home hearth glowing?

Hey, ride into the dawn.

Sure the stars were bold at evening, and storms blew in the West,

they rode each night ‘til morning light was lit by conquest.

And nightly pistols sang at dusk, stoked the people’s pride,

‘til the gentry came to fear a name hailed far and wide.

Then one night on fortune’s mile,

a carriage of great pomp and style,

the magistrate’s conceit and guile,

and his morals all forsaken.

So, the brothers robbed him blind,

but never took the wretch’s life,

and a garrison sought them that night,

as prisoners they became.

Before you take my life away,

before I ‘pon your gallows swing,

before I for your gold must pay,

I’ll take from you whats owed to me,

by blood, and toil, and poverty.

Well, the brothers they were lead at dawn, in the gallow’s shadow,

the winds were still, the earth was cold, and the gentry, dark and sallow,

and all around, without a sound, they entertained no hope,

the couldn’t mourn their final dawn, but stepped up to the rope.

And in that cold, September light, a fierce fire burned in their eyes,

and the valley echoed to their cry, clear as a ringing gunshot:

“You usurers of bloody gold, forever fear our people’s road,

take our lives but damn your souls,

The Devil won’t be bought!”