Oh how irony can taint
a perfect painting of justice
In a shabby room where the judges hide
there is no innocence, but confession

She fell into the Seine
her voice still haunting you among the Dutchmen
Tonight there will be fog
on the Zuider Zee
and in your head

Oh how irony can taint
a perfect painting of justice
Pureness is ephemeral
muddied with our best kept secrets

You hear the foghorn sound
You can't stand to be below all the laughter
Tonight there will be fog
on the Zuider Zee
and in your head

I know just how he fell
Now I know just how he fell into it

Alone above Lake Superior
like a stolen judge in hiding