| Reads a note lying on his desk
|
| But the words already smear the morning press
|
| Tell him that he’s got a job to do
|
| A lethal dose that he’ll be giving you
|
| Should have run when you heard the screams
|
| Now it’s all one big bad dream
|
| Hang your heard sadly, dose his job gladly
|
| Sing out, here comes the preacher
|
| And a tune to greet ya
|
| The executioner’s song
|
| Gotta judgment seat awaitin' here
|
| Life is flashin' cold and crystal clear
|
| Metal halo custom made for you
|
| A bolt a power to your maker
|
| You’ll be pushed on through
|
| A sweet and sickly distant melody
|
| There ain’t a whole lot of time to be
|
| Going down badly, slowly and medly
|
| Sing out, here comes the preacher
|
| And a tune to greet ya
|
| The executioner’s song
|
| Cry out, your maker gonna meet ya
|
| He’ll be there to seat ya
|
| The executioner’s song rolls on
|
| A sweet and sickly distant melody
|
| There ain’t a whole lot of time to be
|
| Dead man walk sadly
|
| Boldly and madly
|
| Your time has come
|
| Your shadow runs into another
|
| Dark silhouetted
|
| Feels no regret, yeah
|
| Sing out here comes the preacher
|
| And a tune to greet ya
|
| The executioner’s song
|
| Cry out your make gonna greet ya
|
| He’ll be their to seat ya
|
| The executioner’s song rolls on |