One moment alive the next minute dead

One moment alive the next minute dead,
An incalculable horror, for those that have cared
One heart stops beating, another is shred;
It’s from the pain of bereavement, that vengeance is bred.

When vengeance is bred, a scapegoat should be scared,
Like a sacrificial lamb, to the altar he’s led.
They cry foul to the jury, if they render him spared;
And implore for the executioner to chop off his head.

In the French Revolution they chopped off the head,
Then mopped up the pool of blood that was shed;
But in more recent times they use syringes instead.
One minute alive the next moment dead.