With Cold, Dead Hands
Officer, I’m innocent
Of what I am accused
I didn’t kill The Preacher Man
With what you say I used
He’s lying in a pool of blood
On the cold chapel floor
And here you stand, you killed the man
With cold, dead hands
No sir, I did no such thing
I never touched the man
I didn’t kill the preacher
With my cold, dead hands
You have the right to say not a single word
Until your judgement cometh
We’ll hang you by the neck, but for
Your cold, dead hands
I wave that right, these hands are pure
As honest as I stand
I never killed that preacher
With my cold, dead hands
Of course you did, you have a grudge!
For this you’ll go to hell!
You’ll got to hell, ‘cause you rebelled
You’ll spend your days in Satan’s cell!
I know you killed the preacher
With your cold, dead hands!
You really think that I’m afraid?
These hands are as warm as a gun!
What I’ve begun, won’t be undone
The fight for Reason will soon be won
I didn’t kill the preacher with my cold, dead hands...
I shot him with intent
Between his cold, dead eyes
Copyright © Herb Alyètte | Year Posted 2010
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