Cannons roared, in the valley they thundered, while the guns lit up the night Then it rained and both sides wondered who is wrong and who is right? On the wire like a ragged old scarecrow, bloody hands and broken back When they fire, see him pirouette solo, jump in time to the rat-a-tat What a night, though it's one of seven What a night for the dancing dead What a night to be called to heaven What a picture to fill your head By the wall, in silhouette standing, through a flash of sudden light Cigarette from his mouth, just hanging, paper square to his heart, pinned tight Gather round reluctant marksmen, one of them to take his life With a smile, he gives them pardon, leaves the dark and takes the light What a night, though it's one of seven What a night for the dancing dead What a night to be called to heaven What a picture to fill your head They dispatch their precious cargo and knock him back right off his feet And they pray may no one follow, better still to face the beast When the field has become a garden and the wall has stood the test Children play and the dogs run barking, who would think or who would guess? What a night, though it's one of seven What a night for the dancing dead What a night to be called to heaven What a picture to fill your head
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