Who is this that stands before me With a candle at its end? There's a fire in the wheatfield And a storm around the bend There's strangers out a'prowling 'Round the great harvests of hay So gather all your family And send them all away And to your youngest daughter Hide her smiles, hide her curls For the master is a drunkard And he'll sell her off for pearls Hide her from the vile workbeast Cover her ears from the screaming world For the master is a drunkard And he'll sell her off for pearls
Who goes before the tyrants Wielding innocence, like fools? You'll need a thousand armies And a tale to tell your troops Tell a tale of harsh oppression And the will to thrive again How your master is a bastard And his day must see its end And when they start to falter Bring their hearts a carving knife And I will not wince in sorrow Sir, you did not take a life For on the final day of lashing You won the wardship of their souls Captured, blackened by your orders Then set free in the wintry cold
You say your master is a bastard And you cannot stand his yoke If your master is a bastard Take a knife up to his throat There's no means to scold your daughter When she overturns a stone There's no comfort in a dark house No harmony in torpid moans Work, rest, pay to die
Your bones are rickety hinges Your back, a rusty tin So you shambled to your bedside Found your wife in bed with him If your master is a drunkard Don't bring him wine, or pour If your master is a drunkard Escape to freedom while he snoresTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.