The Evidence

It's the consequence of privileged information.

You can run, you can hide,

But light will find a way

And wither away

Haunted and haunting, we all are followed

By shadows from martyrs and mercenaries

Diseased by information

Plagued by what we know.

Burn the evidence; It's enough to make a case

It's enough to incriminate

Down the empty corridor to the coroner

It's clear, you've got what they want, and they'll find you

Haunted and haunting, we are followed by shadows

Plagued by what we know

It's just a matter of time before they find out.

It's just a matter of time, young man.

(Her fingers, like spiders, spun a web my body couldn't shed.)