From the words and the thickets, Come the ghosts of his victims, 'We love you!' 'Ah love you!' This will not hurt a bit. - Nick Cave

And as the company passed from the valley, into a higher ground,
The rain beat on the ridge and on the meadow, and on the mound, Until nothing was left, nothing at all except the body of Sorrow,
That rose in time, to float upon the surface of the eaten soil.

I am the king! I am the king! I am the king!
One dead marine through the hatch,
Scratch and scrape this heavenly body,
Every inch of winning skin,
Honey Honey Honey Honey Honey, come and kiss me-e-e-e-e-e!

Put ya shoulder to the handle, if ya dare, and hoist that bucket hither,
Crank'n'hoist'n'hoist'n'crank, till ya muscles waste'n'wither.