Swinging high up in this tree, a young man there once was,

accused of doing wrong, so he rose above

someone said he'd done it, they knew it deep within.

So with his lady watching, they hung him for his sin.

Six of them there that day, to make sure he'd pay.

Six to be remembered, for the innocence they'd slay.

Time went on, each went his way,

forgeting of the past, none knew of the future,

or of the dye they'd cast.

For each died swinging, in a tree just like you see,

some were even buried, just like they done for me.