tormentor, your home is a bull-fighting ring

where spears can be thrusted into innocent things

and all the spectators will stand and throw roses

you're the bringer of death in a proud performance



tormentor, your home is a tavern in hell

where the bar-keeping drunkards all know you so well

you play the piano and they sing along

and the hellfire's crackling to the time of the song



tormentor, your home is in southern Iyan(?)

dreaming of all the places you've been

rubbing the gravel dust out of your eyes

you'll look for the moon but it's lost in the sky



tormentor, your eyes are as blue as the sea

but you've never been nothing but trouble for me

so go on and forget that i live in this town

find a lonelier place, throw your stakes in the ground