The Gypsy, The Punk, And The Fool (A Tale)

Lay the sleepy children down
Battered hand on baby's brow
Embers turn the night to smoke
Bottle shells of revelry and ghosts
Of old jokes
Horses thethered tight to their meins
In the beds of straw the strong arms fade
What are the words of the gypsy lament
Carnival not haunted by the lent
Sing of no surrender
Soft fiddle crack in the cellar shack
That look on his face said don't come back
As the crusty and the gypsy had their spat
Which one knows less of the land?
One has asked the other if there's space
The other laughs
He'll hardly last the day
Grow all your beanfields and you pay no rent
Can you really sing the rogue's lament?
You'll hang before you surrender
You'll hang before you surrender
You'll hang before you surrender
I will not surrender!
The boy could have grown to never strain a hand
Yet now he speaks of working his own land
And father's bribery is all for naught
For the moral of these stories can't be bought
How I marvel when Ivy Leagues is shed
To tend the wheat that's soon to be your bread
If you choose rebellion over sweet content
Can you really sing the rogue's lament again?
No
I'll sing the rogue's lament never again
I'll sing the rogue's lament never again
When you roll your own bed
Always be out of lead
Ya cannot sing the rogue's lament again
I'll sing the rogue's lament never again
I'll sing the rogue's lament never again
When you bake your own bread
The baker's always a friend
Ya cannot sing the rogue's lament again
I'll sing the rogue's lament never again
I'll sing the rogue's lament never again
When you roll your own bed
Always be out of lead
Ya cannot sing the rogue's lament
Ya cannot sing the rogue's lament
You'll sing the rogue's lament never again!