Jilted tongues In sorrow sleep Leaving long hard words To lie in deep Follow home The awful truth Feel the silent loss Of guileless youth A dead man walks A crowded street Into the place the grand Assembly meets Guilty hands Stitched on their mouths And arrowed fingers aim To point you out Oh, strain to tell Sound the mission bell The magistrate Is poisoning the well Innocent blood Has stained the tree Heads in sorrow hang While walking free Seven days Beneath the storm The bottle washed up on A desert shore Oh, strain to tell Sound the mission bell The magistrate Is poisoning the well Oh, strain to tell Sound the mission bell The magistrate Is poisoning the well Poisoning Poisoning Poisoning Poisoning Poisoning Poisoning...