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and the ruddy, bloody truth is,
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I had no idea what the man was gonna do that night.
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This beach was once a cannibal's banqueting hall,
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where the strong gorged on the weak,
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but the teeth, sir, they spat out,
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like you and I would expel a cherry stone.
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Do you know the price a quarter pound of these will earn?
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Remember this is not an interrogation or a trial.
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Your version of the truth is all that matters.
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Truth is singular.
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Its "versions" are mistruths.
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Don't let them say I killed myself for love.