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.