There was a man inside a pub
Where beer was siphoned from a tub.
The lights were low, the room was dim,
The air was foul, the patrons grim.

Outside the streets were dark and cold,
And filled with wretches, failed or old.
It had been years since I'd been warm;
My jacket had been ripped and torn.

Inside the bars, the clownish whores
Lured filthy men behind closed doors.
Some souls cried into their beer;
This fellow did not shed a tear.

My lady hid behind her veil,
And when I asked, she told her tale.
I watched her close, she gave no sign
She knew her tale was also mine.

And when she cried, the fellow smiled,
Happy as a wicked child.
And when she died, the fellow grinned;
I asked him why. He said she'd sinned.

And when we fought, the fellow won.
He told me I had better run.
He warned me, though, I could not hide;
"This hell," he said, "is on my side."

back to the highway that never ends