History of Sorrow

On a cold night the leafs blew with the wind
As the silver blade cut through with sin
There was no shriek that came from red lips
But a stem of grapes held in finger tips

A life ended when mine began
On a lonely night when she took his cold hand
A man of honour, but created a slaughter
She was not a innocent daughter

They morn a lost life with a handful of tears
Only the whores fears what’s here
A dark alley with a rich man
Only she saw what was in his hand

A bag full of trinkets he thought would do the trick
For Mary Ann’s mortician became sick
A Jew or a butcher they thought
Only the inspector knew who to sought

There they lay in a row
The priest stood there and took his toll
An empty street full of fear
Here I am I stand on a whim

This was the day my life begins