Preston Miller

He was born in Miller's mansion when the mistress was asleep
The secret son of the chambermaid and master
They sent him into hidin' for his schoolin' and his keep
With the Carlysles and the other lucky bastards

Now his toady tutors fawn and praise the man that he's become
Though he's taken to the laudenum and faro
He walks the streets like velvet death with his daddy's money on his breath
And a shame he cannot shake down in his marrow

When day fades to black you must not listen to the killer
Pretty voices keep you beautiful and bound
'Cause it's simple, sorry fact of your existence, Preston Miller
Is enough to bring this house of evil down

One night upon some drunken dare he writes his absent sire
Sayin', "Father I would fain come home to meet thee"
And though his worthless friends guffaw this sudden show of fire
Another round of bourbon and it's easy

And this letter finds his father in his tower far away
And the hoary claw that holds it shakes and trembles
Is it grief over a life misspent, or love or greed or mere contempt
Or something darker stirring in his temples?

When day fades to black you must not listen to the killer
Pretty voices keep you beautiful and bound
'Cause it's simple, sorry fact of your existence, Preston Miller
Is enough to bring this house of evil down, down, down

A week gone by, he's wakened by a knockin' at his door
And he drags himself half-wasted to the threshold
It's a message in his father's quill sayin', "Meet me scion, if you will
At the very stroke of midnight in the meadow"

Now he has combed his laggard locks and hired a comely roan
And he's met his comrade fops around the fountain
And he's bidden each a grand goodbye and he's cantered off alone
To meet his aged father in the mountains

When day fades to black you must not listen to the killer
Pretty voices keep you beautiful and bound
'Cause it's simple, sorry fact of your existence, Preston Miller
Is enough to bring this house of evil down, down, down

"Oh father dear come out, come out, I honor thee tonight"
He shouts as he goes weavin' in the saddle
He sees the stars go blinkin' by like the twinkle in a trollop's eye
And six riders riding madly in the shadows

This mornin' sailed a ship of fools across a sea of gin
With a blind and grinning reaper at the tiller
And it drove an aging Jacob to his lone and bitter end
And a bullet through the brain of Preston Miller