My mother was obsessed by evil jealousy
She didn't want nobody to even look at 
MollyShe kept me locked up in this attic till 
I diedOnly 4 years old, my story left untold
Oh, MollyOh, 
MollyMother was struck by this infallible idea
If she could paint my portrait 
I would remain immortal
And I could hang downstairs above the fireplace
A little girl in lace, not a single trace of crime
Trace of crime
Each day and night she worked and autumn turned to spring
For every stroke she painted a little life was ended
At last I felt so weak 
I could not even speak
But in that fatal portrait my spirit came to life again
Oh, MollyThat night 
I made the portrait speak in evil tongue
You're gonna go beyond too, may pain and death bestow you
She grabbed a book and spoke aloud an ancient rhyme
While she burned the portrait in the candle of fate
Oh, MollyI've gotta see ma