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© 2025 Victor Robert Farrell (PurpleRobert)
Writers: Kentucky Johnson & Bobby Farrell 🌐 www.kentuckyjohnson.com
Presented by Mr. Farrell’s Sound Parlour -🌐 www.soundparlour.music
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Victor Robert Farrell (PRS / Songwriter & Composer)
Alternate credit: PurpleRobert

[Intro – Spoken]
I am the midnight torchlight.
I am the puller-back of the tented bedclothes.
I am Maytron.
Scourer of all the depths of Satan.

[Verse 1]
You make Me sick.
So I shall make you sick.
Sick in bed, and sick of bed.
Fret not for your children...
For they are dead.
I killed the little bastards.

[Pre-Chorus]
You danced with Jezebel.
You swallowed the lie.
You dressed it in worship,
But I see through disguise.

[Chorus]
O sick in bed and sick of bed,
Fret not for the ones you bred,
They won’t be rising from the dead—
The bird has flown, the fire’s been fed.

[Verse 2]
But to the rest, even the best,
Who beat the feast of the sex-beast,
Who avoided the hell of this Jezebel,
And increased in works of love...

[Bridge]
Who had no bone with a bird that’s flown,
Nor sat nor stood in Norwegian Wood,
Who never plucked the sitar of Shankar,
Never bathed in eastern mood.

[Pre-Chorus – Return]
You held the line.
You bore the shame.
Your works outlast
This town’s dark game.

[Chorus – Repeat]
O sick in bed and sick of bed,
Fret not for the ones you bred,
They won’t be rising from the dead—
The bird has flown, the fire’s been fed.
Yeah the bird has flown, and Jezebel’s bled.

[Verse 3 – Reward]
For the courageous contender,
There remains beauty and splendour,
A place in My crown,
A white flowing gown,
A gem in My diadem...

[Bridge – Original Verse]
It wasn’t pine, it was pressure.
It wasn’t love, it was leisure.
It wasn’t worship—it was pleasure
Dressed in robes of dusty white.
So I burned it all last night.

[Chorus – Final]
They played with prophets, bedded beasts,
Feasted while the faithful wept,
Painted Jezebel in peace—
But I remember what they kept.
The bird has flown, her song has ceased.
Judgement doesn’t oversleep.

[Outro – Spoken]
Forever.
The bed is cold.
The bird is gone.

And still...
the fire burns.