THE BUTCHER
text & music ©by ralf moß, arr. ©by mafish
The butcher lives alone
Above his slaughterhouse
He has lonely little room
Where he spends his nights
And the butcher stands alone
And the butcher feels alone
In his slaughterhouse
It’s cold, it’s wet
In his slaughterhouse
There’s blood on his shirt
Outside in the streets
People passing by
But nobody looks
Inside
And the radio plays a sad song
And the radio is the only one
Who talks to the butcher
In his slaughterhouse
And in the night when all is done
When the butcher drops his pants
He’s so alone
No family, no friends
He sleeps through a dreamful night
Seems like an endless fight
’till the morning light
When he wakes up again
The butcher stares at his mornin’ meal
Nobody cares, how he feels
Nobody brings a letter to him
The telephone doesn’t ring
And the radio plays a sad song
And the radio is the only one
Who talks to the butcher
In his slaughterhouse
The butcher in his slaughterhouse
Cold dead halves of pigs
And no one, no one else
Outside it rains
People passing by
Umbrellas above their heads
Nobody looks inside
The butcher’s alone with his pigs
Naked meat
Naked pink
Hooks and knives
Blood on tiles
And the radio plays a sad song
And the radio is the only one
Who talks to the butcher
In his slaughterhouse
The butcher stands behind his window
The rain outside has ended
He’s watching busses passing through
But people inside never look at him
Between all the cold dead bodies
The butcher stands alone
He remembers when he married
But that was long ago
The butcher stands in his slaughterhouse
Alone with his knife
There’s blood on his apron
It’s the blood of his wife
And the radio plays a sad song
And the radio is the only one
Who talks to the butcher
In his slaughterhouse
