I'm thinking of all those old black and white jailhouse movies that portrayed the agony of the ticking clock. The warden anxiously waits by the phone, just in case it rings with a reprieve.
As he is laying on the table, will he have the guts to admit guilt, and ask for forgiveness, as the needle is inserted into his arm?
I don't think he will.
I think he'll go out the liar and murderer he is.
NO CLEMENCY JUST ANNOUNCED>
I'm thinking of all those old black and white jailhouse movies that portrayed the agony of the ticking clock.....
How about a little Green Green Grass of Home??
"Green Green Grass Of Home"
The old home town looks the same as I step down from the train,
and there to meet me is my Mama and Papa.
Down the road I look and there runs Mary hair of gold and lips like cherries.
It's good to touch the green, green grass of home.
Yes, they'll all come to meet me, arms reaching, smiling sweetly.
It's good to touch the green, green grass of home.
The old house is still standing tho' the paint is cracked and dry,
and there's that old oak tree I used to play on.
Down the lane I walk with my sweet Mary, hair of gold and lips like cherries.
It's good to touch the green, green grass of home.
Yes, they'll all come to meet me, arms reaching, smiling sweetly.
It's good to touch the green, green grass of home.
[spoken:]
Then I awake and look around me, at four grey wall surround me
and I realize that I was only dreaming.
For there's a guard and there's a sad old padre -
arm in arm we'll walk at daybreak.
Again I touch the green, green grass of home.
Yes, they'll all come to see me in the shade of that old oak tree
as they lay me neath the green, green grass of home.