Bro-

ken

the

pa-

ra-

digm

an

e-

xam-

ple

must

be

set.

In-

voke

the

Si-

ren's

song

and

sign

the

death

war-

rant.

This

is

what

has

been

wrought

for

thir-

ty

pie-

ces

of

si-

lver.

The

tongues

of

men

and

an-

gels

bought

by

a

be-

loved

be-

tra-

yer.

I

am

the

re-

sult,

what's

bet-

ter

left

un-

spo-

ken.

Vio-

lence

be-

gins

to

mend

what

was

bro-

ken.

You've

been

talk-

ing,

I've

been

all

ears.

Words

meant

to

dwell

in

dark-

ness

shall

ne-

ver

see

the

light

of

day.

Words

can

be

bro-

ken

so

can

bones,

e-

xe-

cute

the

man-

date.

Mouth

full

of

dirt

your

name

is

re-

moved

from

the

re-

gis-

try.

St.

Pe-

ter

greets

with

emp-

ty

eyes

then

turns

and

locks

the

gate.

I

am

the

re-

sult,

what's

bet-

ter

left

un-

spo-

ken.

Vio-

lence

be-

gins

to

mend

what

was

bro-

ken.

You've

been

talk-

ing,

I've

been

all

ears.

O-

mer-

ta.

Cheap-

ly

ve-

nal,

stu-

pid-

ly

ver-

bose.

A

slip

of

the

tongue,

a

slit

of

the

throat.

Six

feet

un-

der

with

no

mar-

ker.

Keep

my

name

from

your

mouth

for-

e-

ver.

Free

speech

for

the

li-

ving,

dead

men

tell

no

tales.

Your

laugh-

ing

fin-

ger

will

ne-

ver

point

a-

gain.

O-

mer-

ta.

O-

mer-

ta.

Sing

for

me

now.