The Hit

I put a hit out on you On Poet's Grove There's blood in St. Kilda The warm summer breeze whispers A lie in this Beaconsfield Grave A Cowderoy Slave Caressing the blade as the albatross flies Andrew the constable Won't be held responsible For holding you down as he carves out your eyes A promise was made The oath was obeyed So we patiently wait for your delightful demise Won't you come my way? Now he's taking the train to the Southern Cross Station And leaving cold as blood dries Good lovers were cold-hearted killers No butchering complete without a knife I put a hit out on you Won't you come my way? Searching phrases for names He will hide in plain sight Now he's taking his time exacting his ritual He's grinding the blade to prepare for the rite I put a hit out on you Won't you come my way? I put a hit out on you Until the cleansing is through I put a hit out on you And bid the sweetest adieu I put a hit out on you Won't you come my way?