The End of Barron Miltovitche

The moon and hills
Were silver grey
The night sky was pitch black

We hid in tree
And ditch and hay
Waiting for our attack

They came along
One by one
They didn’t suspect a thing

The baron’s song
We heard him come
He always liked to sing

With blood curdling cries
Ourselves we threw
Upon his guards and men

With pitchfork and scythes
The guards we slew
They numbered over ten

The baron we grabbed
And tied him up
And we took him straight away

He struggled and jabbed
Like a young pup
He threatened to make us pay

The baron’s evil
Was without any remorse
He spread it through the land

Like a burrowing weevil
There was no recourse
We had to take a stand

He burned down a village
And taxed all the rest
Enslaving those who couldn’t pay

He plundered and pillaged
Keeping all of the best
And he always got his way

Fourteen wives
He killed them all
As soon as began to tire

For all of those lives
He had to fall
At least no child he’d sire

And now we had him
Gagged and tied
He soon came to his end

Though our task was grim
We made sure he died
And now we could begin to mend