Drawn and Quartered - Tourniquet

Deliver to me the thieves, the murderers

And those with whom I find no fault

Just give me bodies — and the means to kill

It matters not who is guilty, who is innocent

It only matters where my fancy leads me I live to please myself as you blood spills out

When you expire — there’s a hundred more:

All who came to see — the curious, the morbid

Nero decides their fate — the arena becomes an assorted

Spectacle played out en masse

You soul means nothing, your pain even less

As your loved one plead for my forgiveness

Not an ounce of mercy will I give out

Bind the ropes, set the horses afoot

Wailing crise, limbs torn out by the root

Entertaining drunken guests as the Christians are martyred

Crimes so petty — the result — drawn and quartered

The result — drawn and quartered

How can it be, as my own death is imminent

That you, oh Lord, still love me A life in the pleasure of torture and murder

I can’t understand it — I can’t understand