Time is red

Time is deadly

Time under glass

Time will tell

Time will tell

The tale of the widow

Who walks her web

Mourning the night

Mourning her dead

Mourning her dead

Did you lose him to a broom

Trapped in a corner of the room

Or was it under the foot

Of the marching black boot

Marching black boot

Is it the lonelines of the night

That makes you reach out and bite

The unawakened flesh

You lady in distress

You poor suffering Murderess