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]