The Portrait

My mother was obsessed by evil jealousy
She didn't want nobody to even look at Molly
She kept me locked up in this attic till I died
Only 4 years old, my story left untold

Oh, Molly
Oh, Molly

Mother was struck by this infallible idea
If she could paint my portrait I would remain immortal
And I could hang downstairs above the fireplace
A little girl in lace, not a single trace of crime
Trace of crime

Each day and night she worked and autumn turned to spring
For every stroke she painted a little life was ended
At last I felt so weak I could not even speak
But in that fatal portrait my spirit came to life again

Oh, Molly

That night I made the portrait speak in evil tongue
You're gonna go beyond too, may pain and death bestow you
She grabbed a book and spoke aloud an ancient rhyme
While she burned the portrait in the candle of fate

Oh, Molly

I've gotta see ma