The Witch Of Whitestone Lyrics

I committed a sin
and now they want my head for it.
But all that made me any different
was that I chose not to pretend to be perfect.

What's black and blue
and dead all over?
Not what, but who,
and now his life could be over.
What's black and blue
and dead all over?
Was she a joke to you?
Or a riddle you couldn't under-
stand?

See, I always knew the riddle, but I never got the joke.

Am I the puzzle you couldn't piece back together,
or the puzzle piece that just wouldn't fit?
Am I the puzzle you couldn't piece back together,
or the puzzle piece that just wouldn't fit?

Look in from the distance and cast your loving judgement.
I feel the empty glances of those who don't get it.
Opinions graze my skin, like sniper bullets.
No questions are asked, just wrong answers are given.
You shoot first, with scopes as narrow as your vision.
Sent me up to the heavens for target practice, and riddled me with holes ‘cause I looked a bit different.
So riddle me this, and let my body pose the question...

What's black and blue
and dead all over?
Not what, but who,
and now his life could be over.
What's black and blue
and dead all over?
Was she a joke to you?
Or a riddle you couldn't under-
stand?

Extra, Extra, read all about it.
Another one gone ‘cause he just couldn't stand it.
It's extra, excessive, I've read all about it.
Unwarranted hatred for the unwanted.

Suicide notes are written in fine print on the backs of your picket signs,
and on the other side,
faces are plastered beneath captions that read "UNWANTED:
DEAD OR ALIVE."
Shrunken headlines are all printed in red,
and the only ink left is the blood of the dead,
who were tricked to mistreat themselves, but who's at fault?
You put the needle in their hearts like they were voodoo dolls.

Point the finger like a wand, making accusations,
spilling out curses, casting only reflections.
So spell out the sentence, and speak condemnation,
but point the finger at yourself and chant the incantation
‘cause I'm the cover you judged before you read your own book.
Had you bothered to, you would have learned to look
into yourself first, to see you're broken and hurt,
and the cracks that you find, aren't on the mirror.

When will you get it?
You're killing the ones you were called to love.
When will I get it?
The God you've created is not who God is at all.