The End of Paganism : Part 1

Based on 'The Mercy Seat' , written by Mr. Nicholas Cave, Australia's biggest religious footballer ROCKSTAR!

It began when they come took me from my home
And put me in death row ,
Of which I am nearly wholly innocent, you know.
And I'll say it again
I..am..not..afraid..to..die.
I began to warm and chill
To footballs and their fields,
A ragged cup, a twisted mop
The face of Carey in my soup
Those sinister dinner meals
And those lucrative coaching deals,
A hooked bone rising from my food
All things either good or ungood.
And the mercy seat is waiting
And I think my head is burning
And in a way I'm yearning
To be done with all this measuring of truth.
An eye for an eye
A tooth for a tooth
And anyway I told the truth
And I'm not afraid to die.
A shonky list and some kids
Expectations that are not hid
The walls are painted. Navy blue and white kind,.
They are sick breath at my hind
They are sick breath at my hind
They are sick breath at my hind
They are sick breath gathering at my hind
I hear stories from the chamber
How Fevola was born into a manger
And like some ragged stranger
I rescued him from the Crows
And might I say it seems so fitting in its way
He could kick a bag on his day,
Or at least that's what I'm told
Like my good hand I
tatooed E.V.I.L. across Angwins' fist
And uselss Campo's chest! He did nothing to challenge or resist.
In Heaven His throne is made of mould
The ark of his poor form is stowed
A throne from which I'm told
All history does unfold.
Down here it's made of wood and wire
And my body is on fire
And Kerna's Wrath is never far away.
Into the mercy seat I climb
My head is shaved, my head is wired
And like a moth that tries
To enter the bright eye
I go shuffling out of life
Just to hide in death awhile
And anyway I never lied.
My kill-hand is called Carey
Wears a wedding band that's lairy
`Tis a long-suffering shackle
I taught Bentick how to tackle..

And the mercy seat is waiting
And I think my head is burning
And in a way I'm yearning
To be done with all this measuring of proof.
A draft for a draft
And (maybe) some talented youth...
And anyway there was no proof
But I'm not afraid to tell a lie.
And the mercy seat is waiting
And I drafted Callum Chambers....!
And in a way I'm yearning
To be done with all this measuring of truth.
An eye for an eye
And Micky Martyn over youth,
And who cares about the truth?
But I'm afraid I told a lie.