The street is dark and muddy,
And the pale Moon Man smiles knowingly.
Streetlamps flicker as the city’s power browns-out

Metal bars clang open, and the old inmate is released,
He drinks in the smell of the air of freedom.
A shadow appears out of the dark and whispers death,
‘No help for you!’
The Spirit of Vengeance drives the knife into the ex-con’s heart.

He’ll never get to see his old home in the green valley,
Or feel the soft, white snow of deep winter.
The street is dark and bloody.