Traveling worlds and passing nights
From whence you came
Surgeons that cut flesh and bone
But cause no pain
Where gouging eyes
And severing hands
Make canvases for three
For when the morning comes
These wounds do heal
Three bottles on a servant's plate
Three bottles on a servant's plate
Filled with hands, eyes and heart
But servant and soldier
Have soiled hearts
And ill luck comes creeping in
Miserable girl what shall you do
Three bottles gone
A sinning hand
A swine heart
And two sly eyes
When morning comes the wounds do heal
One man runs to where the dirt is deepest
Face down and exposed
The other's hands that twitch like a thief
And eyes blinded by the night
Setting fire wrongs the right
Now beg for your bodies back