You’ll do best to go back where you came from,
You don’t want to be much around me—
For I’m lost, and I’m weak,
And I’ve heard that I reek
Of the workers of hell and their fiends.
I lost my soul to a man in a matchbox,
Gave my body to surgeons unclean—
But when judgment day came,
Through my begging and screams
They walked on.
No one came back for me.
I have wandered these roads hence untraveled,
I have planted my roots in the sand, in the sea—
But for all of my knowledge,
For all of my pain,
I still hate what the mirror tells me.
I have emptied the chalice of malice,
I have swallowed the pill of despair—
Yet, despite all my sins on this terrible fringe,
Still I wander what good might live there.
But I ramble too much for good hearing,
Pray go back to the place whence you came—
For if you linger with evil,
Good things start to change:
It becomes who you are, just the same.
You’re more stubborn than first I expected,
It’s no wonder you’re nobody’s wife—
See my patience grow thin,
Hear my warnings and cringe—
Have you now disregarded your life?
I will tell you one thing, if you’ll hear it,
I will tell you a rumor I’ve known—
Through the smog and the smoke,
There’s a legendary hope,
That this curse might be still overthrown.
I will give you my heart, though it’s broken,
And a chance to be mended, if granted by Time—
But if all that I feel must be spoken,
Then, my dear, we may this way expire,
Your fingers in mine.
I will hold your dead hand if you’ll bear it,
I will answer your questions as best I can—
For my sins were so bold,
And my heart was so cold,
But you gave an old shadow a chance.
You’ve resurrected this wretched old man.