Funeral March

Crooked man with a crooked nose
Crooked neck and a funeral rose
Wretched, righteous, a life withdrawn
I'm marching on

My praying hands, they've been stained with blood
A broken man, baptized in the mud
My former self has all but dead and gone
I'm marching on

Good riddance to you, you're in the clear
You've watched me dying, never shed no tear
I used to be a man till lines were drawn
I'm marching on

I tried to pray, but I lost the words
Voice trailed off like a flock of birds
I took my sins to the river bank
Cast them out, and they finally sank
I gave you everything till everything was gone
I'm marching on