02x07 - E.B. Was Left Out

[bunniefuu]

Did you know this f*cking walkway
connected us?

AW:
Several of your patrons

in different stages of undress
have illuminated me.

What happened there?

Not only was my press disabled,

but my office was ransacked

and feces mounded in the corner.

A message of objection to my handling
of Yankton's notice on the claims.

Posting rather than publishing, huh?

The camp's new schoolteacher,
a lovely woman,

was so traumatized
by what happened that she left!

Cy Tolliver?

Who didn't even trouble,
when confronted, to deny it.

(sighs)

Why ain't you up and running again?

I'm in despair.

The physical damage is repairable,

but the psychic wound
may be permanent.

You ever been beaten, Merrick?

Once when I thought
I had the smallpox

Doc Cochran slapped me in the face.

Stop it, Al.

Are you dead?

Well, I'm in pain,
but no, I'm obviously not dead.

And obviously you didn't f*cking
die when the doc slapped you.

- No.
- So including last night,

that's three f*cking damage incidents
that didn't k*ll you.

Pain or damage don't end the world,

or despair or f*cking beatings.

The world ends when you're dead.

Until then, you got
more punishment in store.

Stand it like a man

and give some back.

(chair clatters)

You use pigs too, Lee,
getting rid of bodies,

or some other disposal method?

(chuckles)

I don't bandy my secrets either.

Joanie.

- Thanks for the loan, Jack.
- Sure.

$100 extra is in the wrap
you'll hurt my feelings not to take.

What are you f*cking
tipping your hat at?

Like one human being to another.

Glorified f*cking monkey.

Joanie Stubbs.

How is things at your place?

There's just me left.

Hmm. I see.

Could you tell me
what happened to those girls?

- All six?
- I'm asking after my friend Maddie

and Doris that you sent to work with us,

and an outside whore,
pretty-looking like a doll,

that far as I know when I left
Wolcott there last night

to come and get you
was all three still alive.

I'd be curious what happened
to the other three.

They're sent away, Cy,

never to return or be a problem.

As I won't be either

to you or Wolcott.

And I ask after Maddie and Doris

and the outside girl
not making a problem,

but if Wolcott k*lled them
and there's remains, to see 'em buried.

There's no remains.

All right.

And you're there now
by yourself-- Chez Amis.

It's no picnic, is it,
honey, running p*ssy?

(door opens)

(groans, sighs)

- (knocks) It's EB, Al.
- Yeah, come in!

Morning, Al.

Request of the widow Garret, EB,

that I may be allowed
to pay a call on her.

Today? Shall I tell her
time is of the essence?

When ain't it?

- Ahh!
- I'll aim for early afternoon.

- Stop walking with me, EB!
- Yes, of course.

And if she pries and pokes
and prods me to elicit your intentions?

Tell her I wouldn't say.

And if she asks me why you wouldn't?

(yelling)
Say you're a pain in my balls

that can't desist from inquiry

till told to shut his f*cking mouth

and act on the task
he was asked to f*cking do!

Yes, sir.

Fine. Thank you.

(growls)

Hello.

It was bad.

There's three gone.
I know it was bad.

If you mean the three I saw off,

I'm certain they're safe.

No, they're dead.

A different three?

My partner and two girls.

Of what, Miss Stubbs?

They've been k*lled.

And she must have come here for that,

'cause she would have sh*t him
and not been scared.

She wasn't scared of any man--
the first I ever met.

I see.

My mama feared my daddy
and I did and my sisters too.

I never met a girl till Maddie
that wasn't afraid of men.

And Maddie's dead now?

And Carrie, her girl she brought,

and Doris, who Cy made
come with us to spy.

And the place empty

of any sign that they was ever
born or lived or got k*lled.

- And it was Cy Tolliver k*lled them?
- No.

It was a man named Wolcott k*lled them

that works for George Hearst.

- Why?
- I don't know that.

I'm not a man.

I believe I know Wolcott to look at.

It's a secret, Charlie.

It's only between us.

I told you as a friend.

And that's how I heard it.

I'm your friend.

Don't ever walk past me.

(crying)

Them Chinks ain't pulling, Mr. T.

Even at a dime a f*ck.

Well, what's been your approach?

Cost, primarily.

- Inexpensiveness.
- The dime.

I would go with
the strangeness, boys.

Take it head on, turn it
to your f*cking advantage.

Uh...

"Among humans, for grip,
the Chinawoman's snatch has no peer.

In all of nature,
the python is its only rival,

though few have lived
to tell the tale."

We are dwarfs
in the company of a giant.

Mind where you stomp
your f*cking feet!

Are you--
are you addressing me?

Too late to catch the one who
taught you your f*cking manners!

Mr. Farnum?

A selection of choice humbles
for the little girl.

How adorably she sniffs
at the tang of freshness in the kidneys.

We've finished our meal,
Mr. Farnum.

(exhales deeply)

(sniffs)

EB:
Mrs. Garret! Uh, here.

Mr. Swearengen, ma'am, uh...

with whom your deceased husband
had acquaintance,

though I believe you yourself
did not, requests an interview.

Tell Mr. Swearengen I will
receive him at 2:00.

Uh, a penny for your thoughts.

I'm glad to be leaving your company.

And as to the purpose
of the meeting?

Didn't Mr. Swearengen confide?

He hasn't been well.

Charlie: That's twice
you've f*cking stared at me!

I feel you breathing on my neck.

Should I exhale out my ass?

And I believe
you're doing it intentionally.

Why? You think I believe
you're a f*cking c**t?

If we fight, it won't be a casual matter.

Oh, I see you've got
your big f*cking Kn*fe there.

And hid somewhere on your persons

you've probably got some
pussified sh**ting instrument.

But I am good at first impressions,

and you are a f*cking c**t!

And I doubt you've fought many men,

maybe even one!

Charlie:
Take a b*ating!

And know how it f*cking feels

to be helpless

and have no one
f*cking stick up for you!

Come on!

Cy:
I'll be at Swearengen's place.

Seth: Charlie!

What did he do, Charlie?

Personal f*cking business!

Bullock stepped in.
Tolliver's still headed towards us.

- (knocks)
- Yeah?

- 2:00, my hotel, the widow Garret's suite.
- What do you know of the fisticuffs?

Amongst who?

Utter and that fella you was sitting
with downstairs the other day.

Wolcott? Just now,
when I was leaving the hotel,

Wolcott had accidentally
stepped on Utter's foot.

If Utter's got corns, that might
could have touched it off.

- (footsteps approaching)
- Al: Tolliver wants to see me.

Uh, should I bring him up?

Tell him I'll come down.

Charlie Utter drove a wagon
out of camp last night,

and that whore that used
to work for Tolliver

was talking to someone
hidden in the wagon-bed.

You connect that with the b*ating
in the thoroughfare?

Sooner than on Utter's corns, hmm?

I will station myself
downstairs as an observer.

Yeah, and I will urinate
before meeting Tolliver,

and I can avoid your f*cking
hovering, huh?

Take your f*cking hands off me

- and I'll take it f*cking easy!
- Stay put?

Don't f*cking order me around!

I'm taking them off.

Seth:
Please don't go back outside.

What happened?

(panting)

Cocksucker stepped on my toe.

Cy: You're moving somewhat
rheumatic, young man.

God, he's always
dragging that f*cking leg.

Early morning f*cking chill.

In which our Deputy Sheriff Utter just
kicked the living crap out of a citizen.

How does that impinge
on men like us?

Cy: The man beaten is chief geologist
in the Hearst operation.

- Al: Hearst of the Comstock.
- Hadn't you heard at all they were around?

Wrong response no matter what
the f*cking provocation.

Amen, brother.

How do you suggest we proceed?

Maybe convene
with Bullock and Utter,

discover the details.

Let it be known
that's the wrong ox to gore.

I'll put together a sit-down.

What can you tell me, Doctor,

of the man with whom I disagreed?

Richardson who summoned me
said it was Charlie Utter,

used to be Wild Bill Hickok's best friend.

Oh, I see.

Several of your ribs are broken.

If you wish to occupy yourself
in plaster,

I can make some up.

I'll occupy myself otherwise.

My fee is $3.

Does your path cross
Mr. Utter's, Doctor?

Sometimes.

You might tell him that I own a letter

said to be his best friend's last.

If he would call on me,

I would consider giving it to him.

If I do deliver the message...

will there be a renewal
of the v*olence?

Oh, I hope not, Doctor.

I-- I didn't do well in the original.

(sighs)

Al. A new suit?

Nope.

The ruddy health of your complexion
may bring the pattern out differently.

I'll see you
to the widow's chambers.

- Go back.
- Of course.

Room two on the left.

Hearst's man convalesces
just to your right.

One thing at a time, huh?

(knocks at door)

Mr. Swearengen.

Mrs. Garret.

How do you do?

Thanks for seeing me.

Will you sit down?

Late congratulations
on the claim proving out.

I had urged patience
on your husband

before he had his mishap.

And yet I've always assumed
after my husband's death

you tried to buy from me
through Mr. Farnum.

(softly)
May I go downstairs?

Alma: Mr. Swearengen's
only come to talk, Sofia.

You read in here.

- You frighten her.
- I'll have that effect.

I think specifically it was
your plotting against her life.

- I'd take tea.
- What do you wish to discuss?

The child's tutor you recently sacked.

Miss Isringhausen?

She's a Pinkerton.

I don't find that credible.

That's the way they like it.

Your husband's family

chartered the agency
to pin his dying on you,

so when you're jailed or hanged,

they can bag your gold.

How do you support
this contention?

Oh, she's come to me
and wants to give me money

to confirm what
she says you confessed:

that you hired me to k*ll him.

How much have they offered?

50,000.

And how much do you ask of me
as commission to tell the truth?

I don't like the Pinkertons.

They're muscle for the bosses,
as if the bosses ain't got enough edge--

So you'd side with me on principle?

Now I'll finish my f*cking sentence.

Excuse me.

I don't like the Pinkertons.

And being the Hearst Combine
and their f*cking ilk

got their eyes on taking over here,
your staying suits my purpose.

As much as you can,
please minimize your obscenities.

Before "ilk."

Anyways...

those are my prejudices and
personal interests for siding with you.

Also... if you want to match their 50,

that would be between
you and your God.

And what warrant would I have
against repetitions of this interview?

Oh, I'd have them write their offer out
and their terms, and make them sign it.

Pinkerton himself, that cocksucker,
I hate that bastard.

Please.

I'd make him write out their offer

with their terms and sign it,

and I'd turn the document over to you

to use as evidence against them
if they ever came against you.

Let me consider.

(soft groan)

You'll tell that child
no hard feelings, hmm?

What tea do you enjoy?

I like that f*cking black Darjeeling.

Oh.

Have we a new Pope?

She's some f*ck, EB.

(laughs)

I won't f*ck Chinese.
I got a mother living yet.

She the jealous type?

You can't deny it is off-putting

how them Chinese girls' quiffers
don't run quite plumb.

That's a f*cking libel and a myth.

They'll never get my dime.

Another round, Tom, for the board.

You're past due on three.

- There are them as do f*ck squaws.
- Pathfinders, I call them.

I call mine "Johnny Roger."

You ever hear, Tom,

the Chinese whore has a ancient way

of milking you of your sorrow,
your loneliness

and that awful feeling
of being forsaken.

Seems to me that'd leave you
with nothing.

(man laughs)

Cy: In the thoroughfare
this morning,

an event transpired
which cannot be repeated.

As the apostle had it,
time's past for acting like infants.

I assume Mr. Utter was provoked,

yet for the sake of us all,

the man that provoked him,

employed by who he is,

cannot be f*cking beaten.

What was the provocation?

Hearst's man stepped on my foot.

- Stepped on his foot.
- Well, maybe, Cy, Mr. Utter

would want to tell us about
a wagon drive he took last night

and who was in concealment
at the behest of that whore

used to work for you,

and how the morning's
sh*t-kicking resulted.

The background of the b*ating
ain't the point,

no more than
the incident's particulars,

or how offensive, if I knew them,

I might find the details personally.

The Hearst interest
requires special treatment.

And we can face up to that like men

or get steamrolled
by the f*cking alternative.

Which is what?

Which is them pissed off
they ain't getting treated special,

replacing us that don't
with those who f*cking will.

Did he condescend, Deputy,
to your yelp of f*cking pain?

Jesus Christ.

(chuckles)
Jesus f*cking Christ!

I don't care what brought it on.

Say it as m*rder, or more than one.

George Hearst's chief geologist

don't get convicted of any crime
in any court convened by humans.

They'll buy the judge, and if they can't,
the jury or witnesses.

If not, they'll start into k*lling.

What the f*ck are we talking about?

Why would we want to know?

Well, Cy...

all that geologist did
was step on Utter's foot.

Are we f*cking done here?

Because if you people ain't,

I f*cking am!

If Hearst's geologist ain't
pursuing remedies and Utter ain't,

that leaves you speaking for the camp.

Adjourned.

He wants to talk to you.

Who?

Wolcott.

We transacted our business.

He says he has Hickok's last letter.

If you see him, he'll give it to you.

Cy: Did I hear you say Wolcott
wants to see Utter?

The bald contempt of it.

Why not come out five abreast,

cavorting and taunting--
"EB was left out. EB was left out."

Cocksuckers.

c**t-lickers.
I'll make you filthy gestures.

Public service was
never my primary career.

(Cy sighs)

Two come this way.

Cy: I only hope, Sheriff, us having
just come to f*cking consensus,

you intend no further
worrying on this matter.

I don't.

Or for your own sake that you're
coming here to f*cking eat.

Gentlemen.

Farnum.

Come from the gathering
of the worthies.

Whatever was purposed
by your get-together at The Gem

I hope came to full fruition.

Thanks.

I believe she's in.

(whispers)
As is the child...

- (knocks)
- ...which may confound his intention.

Mr. Bullock.

Please come in.

I apologize for calling unannounced.

You find us in only mild disarray.

Sofia has me for teacher now
as well as guardian.

How are you feeling?

Well, thank you, as I hope
you are and your family.

We're all very well.

I feel...

better lately in the afternoons

than in the morning.

Ah.

You find the right time of day
to surprise me.

Mr. Star, with whom I met yesterday,
was not so fortunate.

Was that a morning meeting?

I fell ill at its conclusion--

or my falling ill was
the conclusion's cause.

We discussed formation of a bank.

It's an excellent idea,

and Sol would be
an excellent chief officer.

I'm glad of your opinion.

And generous on your part,
who need not put capital at risk.

Thank you.

And supportive of the camp
at a crucial hour of its history.

Thank you very much.

Would it be better for you if I left?

We seem to be conversing amiably.

I mean the camp.

Because I am unwell in the mornings?

Would it be easier for you?

Why would your leaving change
in any material way my situation?

I mean, as to your seeing me
in the camp

more or less daily,

would you prefer not to?

Mr. Bullock...

if you believe the change
in my condition

and the decent concern for others

we claimed as our purpose
in separating

dictates now your leaving the camp

and uprooting your family,

I will not judge your decision.

But please do not ask me
to make it for you.

I understand.

I do not wish to make
things more difficult for you.

Will you stay?

Will she be certain to know?

It becomes you.

I guess my concern is

why you would invite
to come a-calling

the man that nearly b*at you to death.

To know why he did it.

(laughs)

Well, I can save you time
with that, Mr. W.

Utter was dismayed
you k*lled them whores.

Now...

instead of information,

would your true goal be, uh...

further rebuke?

Getting cuffed around a little more?

Let me hire someone for the job,

'cause Utter's liable to k*ll you,
and I don't need you dead.

Get out!

(chuckles)

You are

tough to be a friend to.

You make a good point.

- Only one would think as mayor that--
- I don't know, Farnum!

- Well--
- I don't f*cking know!

Uh, by all means,
then let's just let the matter rest.

Go back.

Go back!

You're much more f*cking mobile.

What's this about?

I'm done at that hardware store

with their f*cking
harping and badgering.

Who's harping? The Jew?

Are you making a f*cking pun?

I'm asking a f*cking question.

The Jew.
And f*cking Bullock also.

I'm erratic with my decimals
and the like.

So harping

now is a hardship
on the same f*cking order

of a boot on your f*cking neck?

Do not f*cking fault them, Trixie,

for your own f*cking fears
of tumbling to something new.

Meaning you want me back there,

secreted and listening in.

Attentive in particular
to talk of Hearst's geologist.

Mind your f*cking decimals!

- Charlie Utter didn't happen to look in?
- No.

As protective an eye as Charlie has
for that madam Joanie Stubbs,

if all her whores didn't
make it to that wagon

and that was on Wolcott's account,

you could see what ensued
in the thoroughfare.

I saw Mrs. Garret.

I support your enlisting
in her banking venture.

Good.

She is as you thought.

I thought so.

I'll take the air.

Don't on my account.

I come to apologize

for my work with the decimals

and my attitude over my errors.

And since I do tend to be
prickly when in the wrong,

if you on your part was to realize

Moses did the heavy lifting already--

the f*cking tablets and so forth--

that might lighten the atmosphere too.

Sure.

Guidance for me, before you
turn to your numbers?

Tread lightly,
who lives in hope of p*ssy.

Is that a white male?

Where?

Issued from that Chinee whore-hut

and walking like a man relieved.

Well, he is repositioning
his Johnson.

Sir! May I and my friend
have a moment?

We were wondering if--

if you f*cked a Chink.

What would that be to you?

Well, they're under our care.

We're their supervisors.

(Con stammers)
Yeah, at a...

a decent f*cking remove.

Well, say I did?

Well, we'd be eager
to know the result.

Was it worth the f*cking dime?

Do you feel that they were
overpriced?

It was well worth the dime.

There is a run on from the other side of camp
all the way down the creek.

Tallest f*cking Chinaman I ever seen
is keeping the line in f*cking order.

- Con: Really?
- Yeah, well, a lot of fellas, you know,

outpaced by white p*ssy's price.

Well, thank you for your time, sir.

Thank you for that information.

Jesus Christ!

You know that f*cking Chinaman
he made reference to, don't you?

Better suited than us in every
f*cking aspect of the task.

Fluent in both languages
and don't mind standing in filth.

A man, as it happens a rival of mine,

learning the secret
of a great man's lieutenant

would make that lieutenant his sl*ve.

My rival knows that expanding
the circle of the informed,

diluting his power
will confound his intention,

so he takes precaution
to be sole sharer of his secret.

(chuckles)
Then the world being the world...

along comes a half-assed
knight-errant, Utter,

Hickok's ex-partner,

to put all my rival's plans at risk.

I'd seek audience with Utter,
verify my thinking.

He earns his bread shipping packages.

And as the dimwit nobility that made
him intercede may now make him reticent,

you, Chief, will be my prop and ploy

whilst I seek to draw him out.

I congratulate myself
on having kept you around.

Why make a show of disposing
of you was my f*cking thinking.

It's not like we need the storage space.

And if there's a chance in 1,000

you people have been praying right,

why get your boss's attention?

Anyways,

I've no plans of us parting company.

(sighs)

As you will note...

I have inscribed

no address.

Miss Here-She-Was,
Where-Has-She-Gone.

(chuckles)

What's that to you?

Only I got packages
could be halfway...

by now to Cheyenne.

What, is it f*cking
Tuesday already?

It's f*cking Thursday, Jane.

So I got five days left
before I got to leave.

No.

Oh, I see.

Well, you look
your usual piece of sh*t.

By you, Jane.

You look like dew on f*cking roses.

(laughs)

I, uh...

woke up on the dirt
in the f*cking graveyard,

questioning dusk or dawn.

It was dusk.

I know it was dusk
because it's f*cking night now.

f*cking bruises everywhere.

Dished out by who?

It's getting the upper
f*cking hand on me, Charlie.

Go on upstairs and clean up.

Right. Thank you,
thank you, thank you.

Go on up. Hurry up, Christ's sakes.

All right, Charlie. Thanks.

Evening.

I'm f*cking closed.

Banker's hours, huh?

Where is it going anyway?

Jesus Christ.

She neglected to inscribe
the destination.

Anyways...

as far as this morning
in the thoroughfare,

I would have done
the same f*cking thing.

I'm done f*cking talking about it.

Don't care who he works for,
thinks he can get away with that.

You give that cocksucker
what he f*cking needed.

The sick f*cking bastard.

I knew when I saw the wagon,
for Christ's sake.

- Poor f*cking girl.
- Tolliver's whore?

- Never seen a girl so distraught.
- Wouldn't you be?

Being a man, you believe
you've seen your equal.

No. Not to that.

She told me too.

She told you what?

What she saw.

She didn't see f*cking nothing.

No, I don't mean "see"
in the sense of seeing.

Get the f*ck away from me.

Yeah, right.
(groans)

Let me get this address put on.

Evening.

Al: Every fracas
ain't a victory, Chief.

Al!

Al.

Why, Al?

Why, EB?

Because being present
at that meeting and made as you are,

blackmail would have proved
irresistible,

and pursuing it would have
gotten you m*rder*d.

Thank you then.
And am I still the mayor?

For all of me, in perpetuity.

Johnny:
Full f*cking day, eh, boss?

They all are.

- Still got that package, I see.
- Ain't nothing gets by you, Johnny.

Dan: I'm going to head to Cheyenne
first thing in the morning.

Don't think that's
the idea anymore, Dan.

Hmm?

What happened to Tolliver
illustrated

till the race is f*cking finished,
never mark the f*cking wager paid.

(sighs)

Wakes up this morning in bed
with the f*cking Hearst Combine,

knowing he's got us by the balls.

Whatever sick f*cking business
that geologist has transacted,

- you can bet he had his wrists in it up--
- Tolliver?

Tolliver, yeah-- before, after
and in the f*cking middle too,

thinking he's got the f*cking edge,
which is the right f*cking move.

Underwriting whatever sick business
that f*cking geologist was involved in

guarantees his f*cking position.
But what f*cking happens, Dan?

Fucks himself up the ass-- Tolliver.

No mean feat,
yet how often we bring it off.

Who impressed me
at that meeting was Bullock,

that avoided putting his pet interests--

innocence, so forth, guilt,
f*cking who did what to f*cking who--

before the needs of the f*cking camp.

It shows f*cking progress.

It shows growing maturity

to what makes the world's
f*cking tail wag.

Anyway...

That's why Cheyenne is canceled.

Well, I-- I figured as much.

You want to f*ck me, Jack?

When haven't I?

Would you pay?

Can I double your mark
and call it a gift?

That way I keep my illusions.

Cy: Let me borrow
this beauty, Jack.

Jack: All yours, boss.

You seem subdued.

I'm good and f*cked up, Cy.

Not nearly as your friend, Mr. Wolcott.

His day was busy as his night:
got his balls b*at by Charlie Utter.

Sweetheart,

them that's dead is gone.

We give them to God and move on.

Hell, you didn't have to see them...

f*cking throats cut.

You didn't clean up their gore.

Don't tell me you cleaned up
anyone's gore, Cy.

Your friend Maddie's problem,
young lady,

didn't want to get old.

Well, who the f*ck does?

- Shut up, Cy.
- But them of us with stamina and fortitude

don't go searching out some maniac
with a straight razor

- to put us from our fear.
- Stop talking.

I won't stop talking, nor show
the f*cking future my neck...

nor permit it in a f*cking friend.

I propose instead
you and me, Miss Stubbs,

wrestle the f*cking future
to the ground.

We fix your place up,
get all new stuff,

open the f*ck back up.

Knowledge ain't general
what happened there,

and those who know ain't gonna say.

Grant me at least as your friend,

if we don't partner,
while that maniac is loose in camp

you'll avoid that f*cking place.

Move back here, Joanie,
where I can f*cking protect you.

No.

What the f*ck did you
come here for,

if not to be protected?

Don't be like your
dead f*cking friend,

afraid to face the truth.

I was just looking to turn a trick.

Mr. Utter.

You agree our shaking hands
would be incongruous?

I come for my partner's letter,

which you told Doc Cochran
you would give me.

I can't guarantee it's genuine,

but it has the feel of authenticity,

and it's clear he would
want her to have it.

To his wife then.

Agnes Lake.

(groans)

Prudence dictates
my requiring in return

your account of what
Miss Stubbs told you.

The prudentest thing you can do

is not name that girl again
with me in the f*cking room.

It was she, this nameless she,
who set you upon me?

"Agnes, darling,

if such should be
we never meet again,

while f*ring my last sh*t, I will
gently breathe the name of my wife

Agnes. And with wishes
even for my enemies,

I will make the plunge

and try to swim to the other shore.

JB Hickok,

Wild Bill."

You keep this sh*t up, you're going
to earn a trip out the f*cking window.

I am simply asking confirmation

of what you were told and by whom.

And I'm promising I'll sooner
blow off your f*cking head

and take the f*cking letter from your corpse
than confide any f*cking particulars.

- To me?
- To any f*cking one,

when I give my word I wouldn't.

Thank you, Mr. Utter.

That's what I wanted to know.

Open or closed?

Open, please.

♪ Lord, I must be strong now ♪

♪ I don't belong now ♪

♪ In this world anymore ♪

♪ I'll say ♪

♪ A final prayer for ♪

♪ Those I care for ♪

♪ Who've kept my company ♪

♪ My destiny ♪

♪ Is clear ♪

♪ I'm dying ♪

♪ To have you near ♪

♪ To me, Lord ♪

♪ I don't belong now ♪

♪ If you are waiting,
I am not afraid ♪

♪ To die. ♪