tormentor, your home is a bull-fighting ringnwhere spears can be thrusted into innocent thingsnand all the spectators will stand and throw rosesnyou're the bringer of death in a proud performancenntormentor, your home is a tavern in hellnwhere the bar-keeping drunkards all know you so wellnyou play the piano and they sing alongnand the hellfire's crackling to the time of the songnntormentor, your home is in southern I.N.ndreaming of all the places you've beennrubbing the gravel dust out of your eyesnyou'll look for the moon but it's lost in the skynntormentor, your eyes are as blue as the seanbut you've never been nothing but trouble for menso go on and forget that i live in this townnfind a lonelier place, throw your stakes in the ground