The robber strode out upon the road,
A carriage coming closer in sight.
They pounced and whistled out aloud,
Each passenger was bound up tight.


And only the noble coachman
Began to defend his lords,
He shouted, - I'd rather perish!
But you'll not profit from your hordes!
______________


The leader smirked, - Well, if you insist, 
And at the coachman threw his axe.
It deftly sliced across his throat,
And severed clean off his head


It rolled off just like a ball,
Into the grass among the weeds.
The bandits swarmed and stripped the convoy,
Taking treasure to meet their needs.


Tossing aside the poor dead man, 
The bandits went to celebrate,
A long table for them was set, 
In the bar they'd divide the take.


But from the thick grass there
The coachman took the head now bare.
No place for it upon the neck,
He carried it away in his grasp.


The sun was slowly sinking down,
As time was swiftly gliding by,
But someone entered in their yard,
With just the softest clop of hooves nigh.


The window shattered into shards,
Upon the table, a head did fall,
"You didn't listen to me this morn,
I've come to take back what is mine, my all!"


The doors were suddenly flung open wide,
The ghastly headless corpse strode in, 
Grabbing the chest right by its handles
Which the bandits had dared to steal within.


There are laws that still apply,
To which I always will comply.
You all must return what you took -
That is the most righteous route


The coachman with his hand did seize,
From the table, the head he took with ease.
No place for it upon the neck,
He carried it away in his grasp.


And taking with it the severed head,
He vanished into the dark of night.
Since then he's often spotted riding
In those abandoned woods in sight.


The crack of a whip then did resound,
Joined by the thunder of horses' trots.
The carriage raced into the brush,
Down the road where his life was lost