| The killing season it’s beginning
|
| I feel your hands around my throat
|
| You either lose, or come up winnings
|
| I wear my old grey overcoat
|
| Now paint it mary, paint it black
|
| Tonight they hang Jerry
|
| Tonight they hang Jack
|
| When this killing season’s over
|
| I’ll never say your name again
|
| And if I smell the perfume of, the perfume of your blood
|
| I know it’s just the incense, incense of my drug
|
| Do you hear the children speaking backwards?
|
| Their bodies float above the bed
|
| Who sings a song that isn’t sung
|
| My soul’s in traction
|
| Cops and criminals, and all that crawl get into action
|
| Smelling the incense of, the perfume of your blood
|
| Smelling the incense of, the perfume of my drug
|
| The brick and mortar start to pound
|
| A powder in the air like anthrax
|
| Brought six white horses down
|
| When this cold dark night is over
|
| There ain’t nobody left around
|
| Now paint it mary, paint it black
|
| Tonight they hang Jerry
|
| Tonight they hang Jack
|
| And when this fever dream has ended
|
| I’ll never come this way again
|
| The killing season, it’s beginning
|
| Skeletal hands are on my throat
|
| Somebody will lose somebody’s winnings
|
| I wear my old grey overcoat
|
| I wear my old grey overcoat |