Two three.
The gate to the asylum closes heavy. Resounds all over the abandoned quarter. She did it for love and she did it for money. Yeah, yeah she drove all the boys mad With her breasts and her spread eagle and her honey.
So search your soul tonight. Because it's a night for self-styled mourners. And swallow the bitter pill as a painful memory. The blood reaches the horse's bridle. You say that things have meaning. But I have never felt that feeling. And she turns to wave back home And she turns to wave back home.
They beat me with a stick and they stuck me on a cross. And I hung holy there for all the world to marvel. And every late night I opened my eyes And saw all hell rise up right there before me.
In the plebian bar of a Biloxi hotel. I lined the drinks up as a memento mori. Chewing on a toothpick, she leaned over to me and said I'm not so impressed by your story. And on leaving. Yeah I get weaving. And I can't wait to get out in the sun.
And she starts her way back home And she starts her way back home With her hopes set down below. And her troubles follow after. Through hail and blackened snow. You are bound to follow after. The flame in her heart is a fading moon.