I killed my master in 1917
And I eternally wake up now to his merciless scream
I had been in the First World War and my mind was sordid
And my once smiling face was changed into something more morbid
I was a young man, who found employment in a great manner house
And was a kitchen boy, to a Lord Barrett and his spouse
The day I murdered the Lord, there was a terrible storm outside
And it gave me flashbacks of when in the trenches I would hide
I saw the dead faces of my comrades in the reflections of the windows
And the faces of me breaking the news to the newly become widows
The cluttering sound of thunder and the lightening strikes
Filled my head with images of dead bodies on the trenches spikes
The Lord came down to the kitchen to check out a leak
And he was asking me questions, but I could not speak
He was shouting at me, asked me if ‘the cat had got my tongue'
And his words cut deep and really stung
He was pointing at the leak in the ceiling and screaming at me
But the Lords face was all distorted, like a Nazi
The Lords Grey coat and black boots and hat
He looked like a Kraut shouting orders in which he spat
Madness overtook me and I felt my grip tighten on the knife in my hand
And what happened next, to this day I still don't understand
I lunged the kitchen knife into the Lords chest
And again, and again, into his breast
The rain from the leaking roof, mixed with the blood
And soon all around me there was red flowing flood
When the storm passed, and the clouds became blue sky
I realised what I had done, and I knew I had to die
I hung myself from the kitchen ceiling
And was discovered by the other servants, I heard them screaming
But my soul had gone and only a body hanged from the air
But I died a murderer, which I think is a title, a little unfair
And now I find myself in Hell
Answering to the devils bell
