Now, George was a good straight boy to begin with
There was bad blood in him someway
And he got into the magic bullets
That lead straight to the Devil's work
Just like marijuana leads to heroin
You think you can take them bullets and leave 'em, do you?
Just save a few for your bad days
Well well now, we all have those bad days
When we can't hit for shit
The more of them magics you use
The more bad days you have without them
So it comes down to finally
All your days being bad without the bullets
It's magics or nothing
Time to stop chippying around and kidding yourself
Kid, you're hooked
Heavy as lead

And that's where old George found himself
Out there at the crossroads
Molding the Devil's bullets
Now a man figures it's his bullets
So it'll take what he wants
But it don't always work out that way
You see, some bullets is special for a single target
A certain stag or a certain person
And no matter where you aim, that's where the bullet will end up
And in the moment of aiming, the gun turns into a dowser's wand
And points where the bullet wants to go
George Schmidt was moving in a series of convulsive spasms
Like someone in an epileptic fit
With his face contorted and his eyes wild like a lassoed horse
Bracing his legs, but something kept pulling him on
Now he is picking up the skulls and makin' a circle
I guess old George didn't rightly know what he was getting himself into
The fit was on him and it carried him right to the crossroads