So they put the lekjon on me
and the claw around my neck was beaten.
My health they tormented me
but the hatred is still there!
Oh, I had suits and knives< br/>who rocked where I wanted now,
God have mercy on the sheriff and clerk,
- they were soon made equal to both!
Oh, were I as poisonous as the plague,
and bad as a sting of a thistle,
God have mercy on the prison priest,
who goes here and preaches and sings!
Why the hell does that call come in to me,
with song and hallelujah poem ?
What's the worst thing he wants me to do
Whispering about regret and such?
I don't feel regret in my chest,
and I'll come to the door one day
shall I swing the knife again,
with colder hatred than before!

SOUMETTRE LES CORRECTIONS