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.