| Freedom for the scapegoat leaving Reading Jail
|
| Rheumy eyes just pierced his heart like crucifixion nails
|
| Shaking fists and razors gleamed
|
| You never stood a chance
|
| When the ink ran red on Fleet Street
|
| You turned your eyes to France
|
| Humbled far from Dublin, chased across the waves
|
| Your biting wit still sharp enough
|
| To slice through every page
|
| Destitute and beaten by the system of the crown
|
| The bitter pill you swallowed
|
| Tasted sweeter going down
|
| And looking back on the great indifference
|
| Looking back at the limestone walls
|
| Thinking how beauty deceives you
|
| Knowing how love fools us all
|
| A golden boy in velveteen landed in New York
|
| The past was so seductive
|
| When they paid to hear you talk
|
| Baccarat and champagne flutes
|
| Tobacco from Virginia
|
| Long before the lords and law
|
| Branded Oscar Wilde a sinner
|
| And looking back on the cold bleak winter
|
| Looking back on those long dark days
|
| Felt like the head of John the Baptist
|
| In the arms of Salome
|
| Don’t turn around it’s a white gull screaming
|
| Don’t cry out loud you never know who’s listening
|
| You’ve seen it all the exiled Unforgiven
|
| From the stately homes of England to her prisons
|
| And looking back at the hardened lifers
|
| Looking back on the wretched poor
|
| Thinking maybe they were my saviors
|
| Strange to think I’ll miss them all
|
| Strange to think I’ll miss them all |