Sell your sorry soul for a handful of sheckels,

Sell your hands to do the devil's labour,

Sell yourself whole, from fingertips to freckles,

Sell your flesh for others to savour,

Sit with me girl, at this Sabbath table,

Sit and divine what the morrow may hold

Sit and converse, convince me, if you're able,

Sit and explore the torture that's foretold,

Another week of toil at the grindstone,

Another bleak walk on sorrows wheel,

Another speechless step towards the gravestone,

Another five days that I will steal,

So speak and tell me of all of your misgivings,

Speak and tell me how you wish you were free,

Speak of all your dreams of, "Truly living,"

And I will speak of why they cannot be.