In the cool of the spring, life returns to this place.
A graveyard of history, or legends to embrace.
If only they could talk, what tales to tell there'd be.
Underneath the stones, there for all to see.
A headless man was buried, within this very ground.
It could be him you hear, and not that of a hound.
For out one night he was, with thieving on his mind.
Had his head chopped off, as payment of his kind.
But once the deed was done, a squire he's found to be.
Now it was too late - the culprits had to flee.
So who crept in the night, and put his body there?
It could be the very same, who initiated the dare.