---

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.