And the pretty jackals smell the blood
Revel in the fire and flood
Drag us face down through the mud
Tragedy as show
Grin the words that might be true
Grim the unrelenting view
Balance gone and the world askew
Staggered by the blows
And he loved the poor and he healed the lame
And they crucified him all the same
Washed their hands of all the blame
And got set to cast a stone
A bright and sharp delivery
A smile through all the misery
News as black as black can be
In short repeated shocks
And he loved the poor and he healed the lame
And they crucified him all the same
Washed their hands of all the blame
And got set to cast a stone
The TV in the hotel room
Blue light in the borrowed gloom
Entertained ensconced entombed
With a pretty face that talks
And the pretty jackals smell the blood
Revel in the fire and flood
Drag us face down through the mud
Tragedy as show