Death from Above

To Buxton town, so men would die,
he sailed, to wait with sword and bow
for death to fall from northern sky,

like autumn leaves when left to lie
beneath the trees, condemned to grow
for men he’d come to crucify.

On fair and foul, like passer-by,
he’d gloat and glare, as blood would flow,
from wounds, before they’d putrefy.

To Buxton town, in years gone by,
When land still shone with goddess glow,
came Caesar, with his evil eye.

To conquer, promenade and pry.
He had no way, no way to know,
his hour drew near, drew near to die.

When silver moon lit up the sky
in land of midnight ice and snow,
the Romans dared to deify

this mortal man and magnify!
Till ‘cross the Rubicon he’d go,
t’wards Rome, where cruel assassins lie

in wait, as Ides of March draw nigh.
When blades will flash and gleam and glow.
And Caesar, cut, can only cry,
as death comes falling from the sky.