“Commala-come-comeThere’s a young man with a gun.Young man lost his honeyWhen she took it on the run.Commala-come-one!She took it on the run!Left her baby lonelyBut he baby ain’t done.Commala-come-cooThe wind’ll blow ya through.Ya gotta go where ka’s wind blows yaCause there’s nothin else to do.Commala-come-two!Nothin else to do!Gotta go where ka’s wind blows yaCause there’s nothin else to do.Commala-come-keyCan you tell me what ya see?Is it ghosts or just the mirrorThat makes ya wanna flee?Commala-come-three!I beg ya, tell me!Is it ghosts or just your darker selfThat makes ya wanna flee?Commala-come-koWhatcha doin at my do’?If ya doan tell me now, my friendI’ll lay ya on de flo’.Commala-come-fo’!I can lay ya low!The things I’ve do to such as youYou never wanna know.Commala-gin-jiveAin’t it grand to be alive?To look out on DiscordiaWhen the Demon Moon arrives.Commala-come-five!Even when the shadows rise!To see the world and walk the worldMakes ya glad to be alive.Commala-mox-nix!You’re in a nasty fix!To take a hand in traitor’s gloveIs to grasp a sheaf of sticks!Commala-come-six!Nothing there but thorns and sticks!When your find your hand in traitor’s gloveYou’re in a nasty fix.Commala-loaf-leaven!They go to hell or up to heaven!The the guns are shot and the fires hot,You got to poke em in the oven.Commala-come-seven!Salt and yow’ for leaven!Heat em up and knock em downAnd poke em in the oven.Commala-ka-kateYou’re in the hands of fate.No matter if it’s real or not,The hour groweth late.Commala-come-eight!The hour groweth late!No matter what shade ya castYou’re in the hands of fate.Commala-me-mineYou have to walk the line.When you finally get the thing you needIt makes you feel so fine.Commala-come-nine!It makes ya feel fine!But if you’d have the thing you needYou have to walk the line.Commala-come-kenIt’s the other one again.You may know her name and faceBut that don’t make her your friend.Commala-come-ten!She is not your friend!If you let her get too closeShe’ll cut you up again!Commala-come-callWe hail the one who made us all,Who made the men and made the maids,Who made the great and small.Commala-come-call!He made us great and small!And yet how great the hand of fateThat rules us one and all.Commala-come-ki,There’s a time to live and one to die.With your back against the final wallYa gotta let the bullets fly.Commala-come-ki!Let the bullets fly!Don’t ‘ee mourn for me, my ladsWhen it comes my day to die.Commala-come-kass!The child has come at last!Sing your song, O sing it well,The child has come to pass.Commala-come-kass,The worst has come to pass.The Tower trembles on its ground;The child has come at last.Commala-come-come,The battle’s now begun!And all the foes of men and roseRise with the setting sun.”