Black Phillip

It seems my well sprung a leak tonight When I found it I had quite a fright It seems lowly serfs have a clever way Of maneuvering from their plight Make no mistake I'm a wealthy man And for the greater good I do what I can But if helping peasants were my only goal The would have been liberated a long time ago And a pittance of gold in my pocket Is worth a pound in your grave If I had a vault I would lock it You're not my burden to save So go fetch my coin, knave Or fetch me the finer grain We are bendable figures With hands on the triggers We're soft and conform to any shape that he puts us in We're twistable wires The smoke of his fire Good sir we're no liars or grifters in sport of sin It takes a while to think, burn a candle, you cannot sleep It takes a while to think, burn a candle, you cannot sleep It takes a while to dream, when Black Phillip's lurking underneath It takes a while to think, burn a candle, we cannot sleep We're rogues in a nation Of impure agnation We don't know how to speak We are jumbled and tangled up If you give us half a chance We'll make good your advance Please accept our humble gift See no rust with this silver cup It takes a while to think, burn a candle, you cannot sleep It takes a while to think, burn a candle, you cannot sleep It takes a while to dream, when Black Phillip's lurking underneath It takes a while to think, burn a candle, you cannot sleep Kind sir we have nothing But bad crop and horned kings Our hope not a wellspring Instead it is drained into hills of Rotten apples Were thrust from our chapel And we have made no friends We have only met our end What troubles I have known Black Philip stole my home You've laid quite a story against my ear But not one of penitence, it is of fear If lowly serfs always got their way I wouldn't be stood before you today Make no mistake, I believe your tale But it does not pardon from a faulty sale A silver cup may not bear me rust But it does not palliate my disgust And a pittance of gold in my pocket Is worth a pound in your grave If I had a vault I would lock it You're not my burden to save An ounce of gold in my pocket Is worth a pound in your grave I will not take this from a peasant Not much more than a slave So go fetch my coin, knave Or fetch me the finer grain