They read him like an open book
But the pages were blank
Before he took the first step
In a new direction
Empty head, imperfection

Second step still humble
Without eyes the hands fumble
Like his feet that wear no skin
A naked man, man of sin

Three steps that hurt like hell
How did he get here
And where will he dwell

With b_____ feet and an empty head
Wish he could say
What cannot be said

As the fourth step was taken
Ethics were shaken
And the end result:
Sanity forsaken
No more fumble, no longer humble
A cut of precision
A part of his mission

The road is blurry
The mission is clear
The bag is heavy
His goal is near

With b_____ feet and an empty head
Wish he could say
What cannot be said
Final step in the dance of the dead
Last cut, last head

[Lead: H. Bastrup Jacobsen]

See also:
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