That's what they shout through the cell door window, when they bring me my bread and water.
"No meat for cowards!"
That's another one they like to shout as well, these men who smell of bluebell and boot polish, who's eyes have never seen death.
My appointment with the oak stake at the bottom of the courtyard draws ever near.
The blindfold and the piece of paper pinned to the chest as an aiming point, no its not for the faint hearted?
I can almost see it from my window...