Sick and dying in my bed
these bastards come to me
Saying "Son, you'll live another day,
for this deal we'll offer thee."
I listened with attention full
to their deal for me.
For life, I'd have to sell my soul
Bound to them I'd be.
"Well I am but of eighteen years,
too old to mold and rot.
But I can't sell myself to you,
no sirs I'll surely not."
Those bastards thought
a moment hard
and changed their tune for me,
saying "Son, you'll live another day,
we've a better deal for thee.
Steal into o'er yonders wilds,
into foreign towns
Kill and bury
another man's child
Quietly, without a sound."
My beating heart beat slower.
My body it grew gold.
in desperate voice I whispered
"To this deed I am sold."
So into towns I wandered
my hand upon my knife.
Until I found
a sleeping child
and ended his poor life.
But in my haste,
I left behind
a fatal clue for me.
The tides exposed
a sandy hand
for all the town to see.
Now here I wait
for lead or rope,
for bloodying my knife.
I have no hope
I know the cost,
the pain I caused, the strife.
So listen to those bastards not,
in any form or guise.
Their deals are for
the scared and weak,
fearing judgement when they die.
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