The Ballad of Colonel Moran or “The Marksman’s Lament”
A Modern-ish Murder Ballad.
He came home from the war with a scar and a stare,
London was colder, but he didn’t care.
A tiger’s tooth round his neck like proof,
Of the man he was, and the things he’d do.
He found no peace in a soldier’s bed,
Just the ghosts that drank where the gutters bled.
So he loaded his gun, one eye on the sky,
And waited for a reason not to die.
Oh, Sebastian, my love, my sin,
You kill to remember, you drink to forget again.
Every saint’s got blood on their hands,
And every bullet’s got a name in the end.
He met a man with a smile like glass,
Said, “There’s work for you, lad, if you live fast.”
They built their kingdom on whispers and lies,
Under the flicker of the city lights.
The papers called them devils, ghosts,
But London always loves her rogues the most.
And in the alley by the river bend,
He learned what it means to lose a friend.
Oh, Sebastian, my love, my sin,
You kill to remember, you drink to forget again.
Every saint’s got blood on their hands,
And every bullet’s got a name in the end.
There’s a guy still waiting in Camden Town,
He keeps a room lit when the lights go down.
He says he promised him once he’d make it right —
But killers don’t dream, they just aim at the night.
Now the years roll by like London rain,
And the city forgets, but he whispers his name.
Some say they’ve seen him near Waterloo,
Smoking with the ghosts he knew.
Oh, Sebastian, my love, my sin,
You kill to remember, you drink to forget again.
Every saint’s got blood on their hands,
And every bullet’s got a name in the end.
If you hear a shot in the dead of night,
Don’t run, don’t scream, don’t reach for the light.
It’s just the marksman, calm and still —
Taking aim at the man he’ll never kill.
( p.s - blame/thank @tinchuleytiger for me actually posting this)
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