Your father is dead, Gimp Bailey,
We found his body all bloodied and mashed,
Wouldn't have known it was him, Gimp Bailey,
Had he not screamed your name with his dying thrash,
T'was but days ago, Gimp Bailey,
You and I walked the town in the cold
I saw the scars on your bald head turn blue,
And your leg shook right out of your hold,
The wolves hadn't touched him, Gimp Bailey,
Though we could hear their howl in the wind,
'Treated him with the respect he never showed you,
For a sinner, that *******, sure new how to sin,
When we passed the catherdral, Gimp Bailey,
You looked to the bell tower high,
And you asked me, confused, Gimp Bailey,
Why men build their towers so high,
What's so wrong with the blue of the sky?
We know it was you, Gimp Bailey,
'Cause against the blue-black of the dusk,
Saw your silhouette, Gimp Bailey,
We saw your limping husk.
You bowed your burnt head, Gimp Bailey,
As we passed by the looming bell tower,
And we both know why you did, Gimp Bailey,
For it rang out for your final hour,
His blood turned to red snow, Gimp Bailey,
Whilst our hounds were sniffing your trail,
And where did you go, Gimp Bailey?
How did you run if you are so frail?
But you weren't trying to hide, Gimp Bailey,
Because we saw that scarred blue-bald head,
From the top of the tower with the toll of the bell,
You screamed, "He is dead! He is Dead!"
Then we heard the crash, Gimp Bailey,
As the Bell fell down the stair well
Into eternity, Gimp Bailey,
It fell into the depths of hell,
And still we waited, Gimp Bailey,
With our guns, oh so ready to shoot,
We didn't know how much you hated,
That man - that beast - that brute -
And when you appeared out the doors,
We saw your hands all bloodied and bruised
From the pillars you smashed, Gimp Bailey,
From the hate of being abused,
When the roof came down, Gimp Bailey,
We didn't know what to say!
When the walls folded in, Gimp Bailey,
There was nothing to do but to pray!
I wish you had run, Gimp Bailey,
But you were a gorgoyle instead,
I called to you, Gimp Bailey,
Whilst those stones fell upon your head...
Each brick that fell, Gimp Bailey,
Was no different from your fathers back hand,
And they twisted your limbs, Gimp Bailey,
Like your leg broken by that man,
And the mortor that crashed, Gimp Bailey,
Ripped open the scars on your head,
Like the fire your father had set on your skull,
Oh Gimp Bailey, are you happy you're dead?
