歌词
There ain't no use for the slow man.
He's a drunk, and he is cruel, but he he's a cold man.
He'll paint your noose like an omen,
he's got you thinking about your death and you are frightened.
You can't refuse what the old man
whispered to the preacher during the sermon.
He's a sain't to the fools of the old land,
but we can see straight through the tricks that he is turning.
He'll speak, but you gotta believe,
there's only trouble creepin' through those teeth.
There ain't no use for the slow man.
He's just a killer dressed in other people's clothing.
He'll fake a youth-like approach, then
coax you to the bottom of the basement.
He'll speak, but you gotta believe,
there's only trouble creepin' through those teeth.
Haunt, scream, but you just gotta see,
there's only trouble creepin' through those teeth.