We’re the Spanish Inquisition. We have strapped you in position
For a cosy little chat with Torquemada,
And we feel we ought to warn you as the manacles adorn you
That your chances of escape are strictly nada.
We advise you to be civil; do not tell him lies or drivel;
He’s a moody gent, and can’t abide derision.
As you lie upon the rack, we’ll slowly elongate your back -
It’s an instrument of wonderful precision.
When we turn the wheels and winches, you will stretch by several inches,
And you’ll feel excruciating indigestion.
After many days of traction, we’ll conclude, with satisfaction,
That you’ve told the truth and answered every question.
But we have to be quite certain that we’ve drawn each sinful curtain,
And your soul is fit to meet the Holy Ghost,
So we’ll ratchet up the rack until we hear the fatal crack
That denotes the job is done, and you are toast.