| Look into my eyes he tells her
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| I'm gonna say goodbye he says, yeah
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| Do not cry she begs of him goodbye, yeah
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| All that day she thinks of his love, yeah
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| They whip him through the streets and alleys there
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| The gormless and the baying crowd right there
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| They can't get enough of that doomsday song
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| They can't get enough of it all
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| Listen
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| Listen to the whores he tells her
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| He fashions paper sculptures of them
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| Then drags them to the river's bank in the cart
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| Their soggy paper bodies wash ashore in the dark
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| And the priest stiff in hate now demanding fun begin
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| Of his women dressed as men for the pleasure of that priest
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| Here I am, not quite dying
|
| My body left to rot in a hollow tree
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| Its branches throwing shadows on the gallows for me
|
| And the next day, and the next, and another day
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| Ignoring the pain of their particular diseases
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| They chase him through the alleys chase him down the steps
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| They haul him through the mud and they chant for his death
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| And drag him to the feet of the purple headed priest
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| First they give you everything that you want
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| Then they take back everything that you have
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| They live upon their feet and they die upon their knees
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| They can work with Satan while they dress like the saints
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| They know God exists for the Devil told them so
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| They scream my name aloud down into the well below
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| Here I am, not quite dying
|
| My body left to rot in a hollow tree
|
| Its branches throwing shadows on the gallows for me
|
| And the next day, and the next, and another day
|
| Here I am, not quite dying
|
| My body left to rot in a hollow tree
|
| Its branches throwing shadows on the gallows for me
|
| And the next day, and the next, and another day
|
| Here I am, not quite dying
|
| My body left to rot in a hollow tree
|
| Its branches throwing shadows on the gallows for me
|
| And the next day, and the next, and another day
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| Listen |