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Have mercy on me, sir |
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Allow me to impose on you |
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I have no place to stay |
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And my bones are cold right through |
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I will tell you a story |
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Of a man and his family |
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And I swear that it is true |
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Ten years ago I met a girl named Joy |
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She was a sweet and happy thing |
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Her eyes were bright blue jewels |
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And we were married in the spring |
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I had no idea what happiness and little love could bring |
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Or what life had in store |
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But all things move toward their end |
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All things move toward their their end |
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On that you can be sure |
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Then one morning I awoke to find her weeping |
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And for many days to follow |
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She grew so sad and lonely |
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Became Joy in name only |
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Within her breast there launched an unnamed sorrow |
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And a dark and grim force set sail |
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Farewell happy fields |
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Where joy forever dwells |
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* Hail horrors hail * |
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Was it an act of contrition or some awful premonition |
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As if she saw into the heart of her final blood-soaked night |
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Those lunatic eyes, that hungry kitchen knife |
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Ah, I see sir, that I have your attention! |
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Well, could it be? |
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How often I've asked that question |
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Well, then in quick succession |
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We had babies, one, two, three |
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We called them Hilda, Hattie and Holly |
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They were their mother's children |
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Their eyes were bright blue jewels |
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And they were quiet as a mouse |
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There was no laughter in the house |
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No, not from Hilda, Hattie or Holly |
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"No wonder", people said, "poor mother Joy's so melancholy" |
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Well, one night there came a visitor to our little home |
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I was visiting a sick friend |
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I was a doctor then |
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Joy and the girls were on their own |
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Joy had been bound with electrical tape |
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In her mouth a gag |
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She'd been stabbed repeatedly |
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And stuffed into a sleeping bag |
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In their very cots my girls were robbed of their lives |
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Method of murder much the same as my wife's |
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Method of murder much the same as my wife's |
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It was midnight when I arrived home |
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Said to the police on the telephone |
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Someone's taken four innocent lives |
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They never caught the man |
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He's still on the loose |
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It seems he has done many many more |
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Quotes John Milton on the walls in the victim's blood |
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The police are investigating at tremendous cost |
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In my house he wrote "his red right hand" |
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That, I'm told is from Paradise Lost |
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The wind round here gets wicked cold |
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But my story is nearly told |
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I fear the morning will bring quite a frost |
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And so I've left my home |
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I drift from land to land |
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I am upon your step and you are a family man |
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Outside the vultures wheel |
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The wolves howl, the serpents hiss |
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And to extend this small favour, friend |
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Would be the sum of earthly bliss |
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Do you reckon me a friend? |
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The sun to me is dark |
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And silent as the moon |
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Do you, sir, have a room? |
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Are you beckoning me in? |
