| Take your fancy potions and your royal old wives
|
| Tell the ale-house braves they better run for their lives
|
| Have you seen the children with the blood on their hands?
|
| Have you heard about the terror spreading through the land?
|
| 'Cos the god you pray to sees the sinners and saints
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| But he doesn’t give a damn about the people he taints
|
| See the hounds of Fleet Street in their tatters and rags
|
| Selling false premonitions for a penny a bag
|
| All the lords and ladies with their diamonds and pearls
|
| Throwing stones in glass houses, not a care in the world
|
| Take your fancy crystals and your fossilised bone
|
| Tell the ale-house braves the devil’s gauntlet is thrown
|
| Belly full of whiskey and a pocket full of rope
|
| No fear in dying when you’ve lost your only hope
|
| The searchers round on you before your final breath
|
| Essence of life surrenders in the face of death
|
| Adverse repulsion seems to drive you to the grave
|
| No hearts on fire can persuade you to be saved
|
| Blood-sucking leeches have grown bigger in the sun
|
| The roses on the stone tell what you have become
|
| Take your fancy potions and your royal old wives
|
| Tell the ale-house braves they better pray for their lives |