The tempest blows up from a squall Past the Cape of Bad Conscience Into the Gulf of the Cauldron Roars over the coastline to batter and flatten Exposing the roots like the dyed hair of slattern
Scrapper and mauler in a rope ring this small Outside the wind is punching There's no one to hear it No one hears the bell ring Except the one who comes to fear it And they continue to brawl
He's buying his way into heaven I suppose He weeps at the blows But down in a location that we cannot disclose He turns the dial slowly Through the Stations of the Cross
Crowd done up dandy In diamonds and finery Baying and howling All bloodlusty calling Fists like pistons Faces like meat spoiling Haul, boys, haul, bully-boys haul
Later that evening Molly and her gunman Go down the stairs to a dive like a dungeon Meanwhile in the backroom there's a girl like a sponge Saying, "Bring him in long as a constable's truncheon"
The gunman wants Molly to kingdom come Then blows them all to the hereafter Who's scuttling away now and hidden from our view? Who tightened the tourniquet, turning her blue?
They're hurling themselves into heaven I suppose Before the gates are closed But down in a location that we cannot disclose They'll turn the dial slowly through the Stations of the Cross
The gale of hale laughter Scales up the ivory The black keys of her fine whine descend into the minor Die away breathless Diminishing behind her Haul boys haul, bully-boys haul
The water came up to the eaves You'd think someone had opened a valve It's too soon to stay now and too late to leave So spare your remorse all the way up to Calvary
They're hurling themselves into heaven I suppose Before the gates are closed But down in a location that we cannot disclose Turning the dial slowly through the Stations of the Cross Through the Stations of the Cross Through the Stations of the Cross