I've found it hard to find Sympathy for rogues and scoundrels Crashing crimson upon an oily shore The permeation of sin into the salt Cast away What'd you say? Drown in the Acheron That dry cough you feel Deep down in your chest It's the harbinger of your death No use in trying to stop it It's something that comes with time One more funeral for this crime Too pretentious to Admit their own downfall Let down by all the other crows Oh no! But your blood on the pavement sobers you to Your own mortality That dry cough you feel Deep down in your chest It's the harbinger of your death No use in trying to stop it It's something that comes with time One more funeral for this crime That dry cough you feel Deep down in your chest It's the harbinger of your death No use in trying to stop it It's something that comes with time One more funeral for this crime