Hair grown like woods, riddled with witches
His eyes were only made for looking at the Priestess
Still the same buildings standing in place
Still the same roots growing up to his waist
She looks so good in her funeral gown, better hurry up,'cause the hearse is going round
His eyes were only made for looking at the Priestess
Still the same buildings standing in place
Still the same roots growing up to his waist
She looks so good in her funeral gown, better hurry up,'cause the hearse is going round
Still the same coffin that I left behind
Twenty-odd years, you don't need to remind me — that this pillar of salt used to be my wife
Could've been a queen
Could've had a life
She looks so good in her funeral gown, better hurry up,'cause the hearse is going round
And I'm a patron of The Valley Below
I am the saints and the martyrs
I am the scum on death row
I used to be alive, but now I'm dead in a hole
They call me penniless scum
I even sold my soul
And the good people said: "You must have lost your head. You can't listen to the Priestess. Not a word that she's said."
I used to be alive, but now I'm dead in a hole
They call me penniless scum
I even sold my soul
Priestess, oh could you take me home? I ain't nothing if I'm not a wary soul
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