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 left 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

I'm turning the dial slowly through the Stations of the Cross