[ Merchant ]
[ bassoons: Kim Laskowski & Atsuko Sato ]
It crawls on his back, won't ever let him be.
Stares at the walls until the cinder blocks can breathe.
His eyes have gone away, escaping over time.
He rules a crowded nation inside his mind.
He knows that night like his hand.
He knows every move he made.
Late shift, the bell that rang, a time card won't fade.
10:05 his truck pulled home.
10:05 he climbed his stair, about the time he was accused of being there.
But I'm not the man.
He goes free as I wait on the row for the man to test the rope he'll slip around my throat...
and silence me.
On the day he was tried no witnesses testified.
Nothing but evidence, not hard to falsify.
His own confession was a prosecutor's prize,
made up of fear, of rage and of outright lies.
But I'm not the man.
He goes free as the candle vigil glows, as they burn my clothes.
As the crowd cries, "Hang him slow!" and I feel my blood go cold, he goes free.
Call out the KKK, they're wild after me.
And with that frenzied look of half-demented zeal,
they'd love to serve me up my final meal.
Who'll read my final rite and hear my last appeal?
Who struck this devil's deal?Illness and plagues, torture and blight
is what she brings
Mocking holy standards, deceiving feeble fools
is what she loves
Granted with powers, gifted with magic
Watching the world through ravens eyes
Damned woman
Mischievous whore
Heretic princess
Devil's own
Her seductive elegance
excites your weak flesh
Her diabolial beauty
enchants your bewildered mind
You damn woman
You mischievous whore
You heretic princess
You are Devil's own
(performing an ecstatic dance:)
A serenade made out of black magic
She has learned to set souls afire
and makes sure that yours never
will leave it's trance
Her diabolical beauty
enchants your bewildered mind