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Five tomes to form the set but what will they expose?

Does the devil sit a throne in hell or preach out to the rows?

The ravings of a genius – the poetry and the prose

His work is nearly finished now, but his ink is running low

Seduced again by Lady Green – she begged you for a dance

Now you stumble down this cobbled street as if in a trance

Oh your head, it's loose and heavy – is there someone up ahead?

As a shadow grabs you from behind, you glimpse a mask of red

When the voices speak

He must abide

Though the flesh is weak

There's sin inside

Down, down, down… in a sacred place below

The scribe is at his masterpiece again

Red, red, red… his special ink will flow

The scribe must record the sins of men

You wake to hear the scratching – still half inside a dream

There’s a man in the corner – only he can hear you scream

Down, down, down… in a sacred place below

The scribe is at his masterpiece again

Red, red, red… his special ink will flow

The scribe must record the sins of men

With the final chapter written, his quill can finally rest

He regards his magnum opus with a hand upon his breast

Though the words will go unread, the voices seem at bay

So the ferryman extends a hand, and takes the scribe away

Down, down, down… in a sacred place below

The scribe is at his masterpiece again

Red, red, red… his special ink will flow

The scribe must record the sins of men