Оригинален текст
A black sheep boy revolves over canyons and waterfalls.
A black sheep boy dissolves in syringe or in shower stall.
He says
Theres plenty of time to make you mine tonight,
theres plenty of time to make you mine.
He says
Theres plenty of ways to know youre not dying,
all right.
Hell, theres plenty of light still left in your eyes.
A black sheep boy grows horns,
breathing smoke through his microphone.
The airwaves stretch and they groan, bleeding, birthing his black diapason.
Says
Theres plenty of things to wear when you come to me,
every color of sleeve to be rolled.
Millions of rolling eyes that still cling to me.
Every language of king is concerned.
So why
did you bawl
from the spell of some old holy song
some liar laughed as he composed,
some liar I loved to control?
A black sheep boy dissolves
in hot cream, in sweet moans,
in each dead bed and empty home,
in each seething bacterium.
Killing softly and serial,
he lifts his head, handsome, horned, magisterial.
He's the smell of the moonlight wisteria.
Hes the thrill of the abecedarian.
See the muddy hoofprints where he carried you?
And theres plenty of ways to claim his crimes tonight,
and theres plenty of things to do on his dime.
And theres plenty of ways to wear his hide tonight,
youve got yours, Ive got mine.
Youve got yours, Ive got mine.
So why
did you flee?
Dont you know you cant leave his control
only call all his wild works your own?
So come back and well take them all on.
So come back to your life on the lam.
So come back to your old black sheep man.
Says
I'm waiting on hoof and on hand.
I'm waiting, all hated and d*mned.
I'm waiting, I snort and I stamp.
I'm waiting, you know that I am,
calmly waiting to make you my lamb