The truth is...

The kid's medicine made him sin

Whether it's from a doctor or a dealer

Screaming about Juanita

He put his record on until he's bleeding on the needle

And he's weeping in the street

Cut down on his curtain call, that's where he's gonna sleep

To gain what these hands he once possessed

A dozen roses on the pavement, laid to rest

Oh, my dear Sister Christie, will I feel some remorse?

She says, "No, pull the trigger

'Cause he's left us no recourse

His brain has a sickness, so kill it at the source"