Call from the Grave/Ballad in Which Macheath Begs All Men for Forgiveness

The rain washes away and purifies
It washed down the flesh we catered for
And we who sell so much and wanted more
The crows will come and peck away our eyes

Perhaps ambition used too sharp a goad
It drove us to these heights from which we swing
Hacked at by greedy starlings on the wing
Like horse's droppings on a country road
Oh brothers learn from us how it begins
And pray to God that he forgive my sins

The girls who flaunt their breasts as bait there
To catch some sucker who will love them
The youth so sly, they stand and wait there
To grab their single earnings off them

The crooks, the tarts, the tart protectors
The muggers and the maggots
The psychopath, the unfrocked rectors
I pray that they forgive my sin

Someone must take a huge iron crowbar
And stave their ugly faces in
I only ask to know it's over
Praying that they forgive my sins