From Mattawa to Parry Sound,
There’s nothing in a soul,
To bring his spirit down.
Until he dreams of a golden hand,
And the lust that she awoke,
In this traveling man.
He courted her with compliments,
Until promising to love until death did them apart.
He took his time to seal her hand,
And stole his widow’s worth,
And laid her body under the land.

He got a corpse inside his head,
He’s gone mad he’s good as dead.
He got a corpse inside his head,
Woah now no, he sold his soul.

Now he sleep without a sound
Not a soul suspects him in the foreign town
But his blood runs cold when the sun has set
And the curtains take the shape
Of her dark silhouette.

He got a corpse inside his head,
He’s gone mad he’s good as dead.
He got a corpse inside his head,
Woah now no, he sold his soul.

He got a corpse inside his head,
He’s gone mad he’s good as dead.
He got a corpse inside his head,
Woah now no, he sold his soul.