The Tatterdemalions
The touch of skin, the deadliest sin
He’s purified under the lock
In the tower he’ll stay, scrape up earth every day
From the grave in which he shall rot
As they hide away, to live is to decay
Virtue leads to the fate of Job
Their bodies enmeshed in pleasures of the flesh
‘Til they’re exposed and brought down by the mob
Abiding like fools to their punitive rules
Don’t deny the freedom of vice
The bricks and mortar of existential slaughter
If you think they’ll hold me then think twice
The hung, drawn and quartered of London Town
We’re lost but far from alone
There’s no shame to be bound to this destitute ground
Among the Tatterdemalions
Lyrics: Aidan Cross
Music: Armstrong/Cross/Edwards/Kloos/Sarsen