Baby I feel good, do you feel bad, now that you're mine?
Baby I feel good, do you feel bad, Clementine?
It's the season of the witch and the drinking of wine,
the season of the Bitch, bionic in crime
shed a tear for our daughter, Clementine
floating in the ocean, drowning in the brine.
Deep in the rainy streets, the rainy streets,
of your mind,
if you move faster, can you look back there and see
Trapped in the tower on the top of the hill
or hear the crushing of her bones in the miller's mill
or trapped in her bottle of tiny blue pills
escaping from a hunter, looking for a kill?