I tried to touch the sacred Word,
but it didn't take too kind to me.
If I'd tried too much I would'a been burned,
too long and it would'a blinded me.
That's alright, I'll take my leave,
instead I'll scrape the belly of the night.
Take this glass with the hem'a my sleeve,
and try to tell myself it's wine.
If that Book won't let me read it
then I sure as Hell won't believe it.
If it doesn't like the look of me,
then by Hell it's got no power on me.
I know why the Light won't look at me.
Because the Dark, he looks like me.