The Saint Who Swallowed The Hound | RANSOM — CROOKED WORLD

gothic outlaw folk-rock, dark cabaret rock

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[VERSE 1]
Roland Saint was a Portsmouth lad;
He liked things best when the odds looked bad.
The warnings nailed to a locked-up gate
Were invitations to stay out late.

At eighteen, out for a relic and pay,
He found what sensible men kept away.
So much for the lesson that fear should teach:
He wanted the things that were out of reach.

[CHORUS]
Run, run, Roland Saint,
A beautiful face and a lack of restraint.
Heel and toe, over thorn and stone,
Trouble had teeth, but he had his own.
Lock every door when the sun goes down—
There went that boy on the wrong side of town.

[VERSE 2]
He kept one prize till the fee came due;
They called it a ransom. The name stuck too.
Fine coats, fine fees and a filthy grin;
He charged for the mess that he landed in.

Some swore he caught what no steel could kill;
Some swore his bill was more dreadful still.
Not all of his stories were strictly true,
But the things that he hunted had nightmares too.

[CHORUS]
Run, run, Ransom Saint,
A beautiful face and a lack of restraint.
Heel and toe, over thorn and stone,
He chased what the wise would have left alone.
Lock every door when the sun goes down—
The hunter was making his rounds through town.

[INTERLUDE]

[VERSE 3]
In sixty-four came a fee and a name:
The Gravehound, that ate every mile of the game.
No hunter could catch it, the contract men swore.
He signed rather faster than ever before.

Three weeks on the road, and the tracks turned round;
His own were the freshest tracks on the ground.
No laugh at the latch. No rest in the bed.
The more that he fled, the more that it fed.

[CHORUS]
Run, run, Ransom Saint,
A beautiful face and a lack of restraint.
Heel and toe, over thorn and stone,
One set behind him—he wasn't alone.
Lock every door when the sun goes down—
The hound had a taste for a man of renown.

[BREAKDOWN]
One for the latch.
Two for the tread.
Three for the breath
At the back of his head.

Four for the door.
Five for the snare.
Six for the man
Who was waiting in there.

The Last Course was set, and the bait wore his best;
He shut them both in, and the trap did the rest.

[BRIDGE]
(abrupt near-silence, low sustained cello, audible breath)
The air tasted copper. The laughter went thin.
The hound came apart where his wounds let it in.
Its will came unravelled; its hunger remained.
His body grew whole round the power he'd gained.

One pulse in the wreckage.
One man at the door.
The man who'd gone in—
And a good deal more.

[VERSE 4]
He woke with his wounds closed and laughed at the truth,
Then laughed a bit harder and felt the new tooth.
No beast in the cellar to bargain or bind:
The chase had grown roots in his flesh and his mind.

Same name on his lips and the same wicked grin;
A great deal more bite in the beautiful skin.
They called him the Red Saint; they called him a shame.
An excellent outcome, whatever the name.

[FINAL CHORUS]
Run, run, Red Saint,
A beautiful face and a lack of restraint.
Heel and toe, over thorn and stone,
One set of footsteps. Teeth of his own.
Lock every door when the sun goes down—
For the Saint who swallowed the hound!

[OUTRO]
The tale had a moral, both solemn and sound.
He liked it much better the other way round.

3186/7500

[VERSE 1] Roland Saint was a Portsmouth lad; He liked things best when the odds looked bad. The warnings nailed to a locked-up gate Were invitations to stay out late. At eighteen, out for a relic and pay, He found what sensible men kept away. So much for the lesson that fear should teach: He wanted the things that were out of reach. [CHORUS] Run, run, Roland Saint, A beautiful face and a lack of restraint. Heel and toe, over thorn and stone, Trouble had teeth, but he had his own. Lock every door when the sun goes down— There went that boy on the wrong side of town. [VERSE 2] He kept one prize till the fee came due; They called it a ransom. The name stuck too. Fine coats, fine fees and a filthy grin; He charged for the mess that he landed in. Some swore he caught what no steel could kill; Some swore his bill was more dreadful still. Not all of his stories were strictly true, But the things that he hunted had nightmares too. [CHORUS] Run, run, Ransom Saint, A beautiful face and a lack of restraint. Heel and toe, over thorn and stone, He chased what the wise would have left alone. Lock every door when the sun goes down— The hunter was making his rounds through town. [INTERLUDE] [VERSE 3] In sixty-four came a fee and a name: The Gravehound, that ate every mile of the game. No hunter could catch it, the contract men swore. He signed rather faster than ever before. Three weeks on the road, and the tracks turned round; His own were the freshest tracks on the ground. No laugh at the latch. No rest in the bed. The more that he fled, the more that it fed. [CHORUS] Run, run, Ransom Saint, A beautiful face and a lack of restraint. Heel and toe, over thorn and stone, One set behind him—he wasn't alone. Lock every door when the sun goes down— The hound had a taste for a man of renown. [BREAKDOWN] One for the latch. Two for the tread. Three for the breath At the back of his head. Four for the door. Five for the snare. Six for the man Who was waiting in there. The Last Course was set, and the bait wore his best; He shut them both in, and the trap did the rest. [BRIDGE] (abrupt near-silence, low sustained cello, audible breath) The air tasted copper. The laughter went thin. The hound came apart where his wounds let it in. Its will came unravelled; its hunger remained. His body grew whole round the power he'd gained. One pulse in the wreckage. One man at the door. The man who'd gone in— And a good deal more. [VERSE 4] He woke with his wounds closed and laughed at the truth, Then laughed a bit harder and felt the new tooth. No beast in the cellar to bargain or bind: The chase had grown roots in his flesh and his mind. Same name on his lips and the same wicked grin; A great deal more bite in the beautiful skin. They called him the Red Saint; they called him a shame. An excellent outcome, whatever the name. [FINAL CHORUS] Run, run, Red Saint, A beautiful face and a lack of restraint. Heel and toe, over thorn and stone, One set of footsteps. Teeth of his own. Lock every door when the sun goes down— For the Saint who swallowed the hound! [OUTRO] The tale had a moral, both solemn and sound. He liked it much better the other way round.

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