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Picture a house,
An old car out on the drive,
Summer rain on blackened steel,
Blood upon the wheels.
Its a place where sorrow goes.
Its a place where nothing grows.
A sun setting, across my dreams,
My childhood fields.
My daddy he was a hit man.
He killed men for the pope.
Things ain't always black n white,
As good men always hope.
Mama heard him pull up out side.
She preyed to the light.
Oh dear god don't let him in...
He's the man of sin!
When the devil comes riding, let him in!
There's a woman in room 322,
Her scent is the desert sand.
She lies awake, her dress is damp,
For the touch of the killers hand.
I'm known as Johnny London.
Sometimes Brother Cain.
I keep two leather boots on dusty road,
Cos my, my soul is stained.
When murder takes me else where,
I'm sorry I'm not there.
But father like son I'm just a host,
For this unholy ghost.
When the devil comes riding, let him in!
By Aiakos Barada Nikto