I am a crooked man
And I've walked a crooked mile
Night, the shameless widow
Doffed her weeds, in a pile
The stars all winked at me
They shamed a child
Your funeral, my trial
thousand Marys lured me
To feathered beds and fields of glover
Bird with crooked wing cast
It's wicked shadow over
bauble moon did mock
And trinket stars did smile
Your funeral, my trial
Here I am, little lamb...
Let all the bells in whoredom ring
All the crooked [bad word] that she was
(Mongers of pain)
Saw the moon [bad word] a fang
Your funeral, my trial