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?