Last Cut Last Head

They read him like an open book

But the pages were blank

Before he took the first step

In a new direction

Empty head, imperfection

Second step still humble

Without eyes the hands fumble

Like his feet that wear no skin

A naked man, man of sin

Three steps that hurt like hell

How did he get here

And where will he dwell

With bloody feet and an empty head

Wish he could say

What cannot be said

As the fourth step was taken

Ethics were shaken

And the end result:

Sanity forsaken

No more fumble, no longer humble

A cut of precision

A part of his mission

The road is blurry

The mission is clear

The bag is heavy

His goal is near

With bloody feet and an empty head

Wish he could say

What cannot be said

Final step in the dance of the dead

Last cut, last head

[Lead: H. Bastrup Jacobsen]