Folsom

Folsom This is the land of the stern command The land of fear and dread Of prayers unheard and of hope deferred The land of the living dead This is the land where the felon brand Is stamped on each hollow cheek Where the vacant eye and the deep-drawn sigh Crushing despair bespeak This is the spot where men love not Where friendship is all unknown Where the treachers knave give up the brave And the dungeon claims ist own This is the land where Murders hand Is ever raised to kill A word and a thrust, a stain on the dust And a nameless grave on the hill His time is done, the haven´s won His, the envied prize The coyotes creep on his last long sleep And the vultures pluck his eyes But some there will be who yet will see A mother ever true Or taste the bliss of a sweetheart´s kiss Who has waited the long years through And more there are who look afar But see no fate ahead But the toil of the slave and the shallow grave In the land of the living dead