Have mercy on me, sir

Allow me to impose on you

I have no place to stay

And my bones are cold right through

I will tell you a story

Of a man and his family

And I swear that it is true



Ten years ago I met a girl named Joy

She was a sweet and happy thing

Her eyes were bright blue jewels

And we were married in the spring

I had no idea what happiness and little love could bring

Or what life had in store

But all things move toward their end

All things move toward their their end

On that you can be sure



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Then one morning I awoke to find her weeping

And for many days to follow

She grew so sad and lonely

Became Joy in name only

Within her breast there launched an unnamed sorrow

And a dark and grim force set sail

* Farewell happy fields *

* Where joy forever dwells *

* Hail horrors hail *



Was it an act of contrition or some awful premonition

As if she saw into the heart of her final blood-soaked night

Those lunatic eyes, that hungry kitchen knife

Ah, I see sir, that I have your attention!

Well, could it be?

How often I've asked that question

Well, then in quick succession

We had babies, one, two, three



We called them Hilda, Hattie and Holly

They were their mother's children

Their eyes were bright blue jewels

And they were quiet as a mouse

There was no laughter in the house

No, not from Hilda, Hattie or Holly

"No wonder", people said, "poor mother Joy's so melancholy"

Well, one night there came a visitor to our little home

I was visiting a sick friend

I was a doctor then

Joy and the girls were on their own



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Joy had been bound with electrical tape

In her mouth a gag

She'd been stabbed repeatedly

And stuffed into a sleeping bag

In their very cots my girls were robbed of their lives

Method of murder much the same as my wife's

Method of murder much the same as my wife's

It was midnight when I arrived home

Said to the police on the telephone

Someone's taken four innocent lives



They never caught the man

He's still on the loose

It seems he has done many many more

Quotes John Milton on the walls in the victim's blood

The police are investigating at tremendous cost

In my house he wrote * "his red right hand" *

That, I'm told is from Paradise Lost

The wind round here gets wicked cold

But my story is nearly told

I fear the morning will bring quite a frost



And so I've left my home

I drift from land to land

I am upon your step and you are a family man

Outside the vultures wheel

The wolves howl, the serpents hiss

And to extend this small favour, friend

Would be the sum of earthly bliss

Do you reckon me a friend?

* The sun to me is dark *

* And silent as the moon *

Do you, sir, have a room?

Are you beckoning me in?



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