When out the crackled window pane
A body lain right near his brains
the gallows foul with thoughts and wit
His neck was snapped they saw it split
Begins the tale of Sawney Beane
A man of vile barbarities
And on the shores of Galloway
His family hunts in human preys.
A castle in the underground
With little light and lesser sound,
A hiding off the beaten path,
An earthly Hell with satan’s wrath.
Atrocities committed oft
where sons and daughters did accost.
And family life was wholly foul
On human flesh they clinched their jawls
Surfeit entrails were tossed aside
And washed ashore on evening tide,
No one knew how they picked their cut
Nor pickled all those human butts
For twenty-five full birthdays past
They squirreled around this cave so vast
breeding with unsavory pride
With dead skin hung on walls they bide
How grim a blackened heart must be
A vilest pique, untamed and free
Whilst education was amiss
This heinous life for Beane was bliss.
No one could edify his mind
Nor fathom fiendish hues they’d find
His life untamed by common wit
They mulled on his ignoble grit.
His den remained untraceable
and Sawney was insatiable
His clan had nabbed a man and wife
Alas this cost the woman life
They were deemed a writhing dinner pick,
They tore into her chest real quick
They feasted on her blood like wine,
Tore her entrails, exposed her spine.
Before his eyes the man was struck
With awe he watched them run amok.
Fair with him, they did not so well,
And one by one the Beanes were fell
Their last mistake, this fickle bunch
Was not to frisk this evening’s lunch
And so with but a simple scheme
He picked off all the nightmares seen.
The man escaped from surely snare
With pistol, gun and silent prayer
He ran to close authorities
And told them of his sovereignty
They strode over some droves of grass
And gathered on a mountain pass
Past the demonic thoroughfare
Where none heard their timid despair
Authorities asked for K-9 dogs
English bloodhounds to do their jobs
400 men, their task of site,
A murderer amid the pale moonlight.
That vile stench of carcasses
rotting in the passages
They found him past a mile down,
Where at high tide the waves won’t crown
No more a mystery, the man
They strung up Sawney and his clan
they chopped their feet, bollocks and hands
then watched them bleed out on the stand.
The woman fared no better than
Sawney and his oedipal band
The King had burned them thrice that day
and shook his head in sad dismay
For Sawney and his wretched clan
had no remorse for killing man
The foulest words he’d imprecate
for thousands died on Sawney’s plate