The Evidence

It's the consequence of privileged information. You can run, you can hide, But light will find a way And wither away Haunted and haunting, we all are followed By shadows from martyrs and mercenaries Diseased by information Plagued by what we know. Burn the evidence; It's enough to make a case It's enough to incriminate Down the empty corridor to the coroner It's clear, you've got what they want, and they'll find you Haunted and haunting, we are followed by shadows Plagued by what we know It's just a matter of time before they find out. It's just a matter of time, young man. (Her fingers, like spiders, spun a web my body couldn't shed.)