Jose Manuel Miguel Xaviar Gonzales, in a few short weeks it will be spring. The snows of winter will flow away, the ice will vanish, the air will become soft and balmy.
In short, Jose Manuel Miguel Xaviar Gonzales, the annual miracle of the years will awaken and come to pass.
But you won't be there.
The rivulet will run its soaring course to the sea. The timid desert flowers will put forth their tender shoots. The glorious valleys of this imperial domain will blossom as the rose.
Still, you will not be here to see.
From every treetop, some wild woods songster will carol his mating song. Butterflies will sport in the sunshine. The gentle breeze will tease the tassels of the wild grasses, and all nature, Jose Manuel Miguel Xaviar Gonzales, will be glad.
But you will not be here to enjoy it. Because I command the sheriff of the county to lead you away to some remote spot, swing you by the neck from a knotting bough of some sturdy oak, and let you hang until dead.
And then, Jose Manuel Miguel Xaviar Gonzales, I further command that such officer retire quickly from your dangling corpse, that vultures may descend from the heavens upon your filthy body until nothing shall remain but bare, bleached bones of a coldblooded, bloodthirsty, throatcutting, murdering S.O.B.
Handed down in 1881 against (you guessed it) Jose Manuel Miguel Xaviar Gonzales.
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Updated 28 Dec 00
BTW, I'm actually an opponent of the death penalty. Go figure.