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Sick Old Man
The Imagined Village
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When I was a young man,
I burned my tools.
Now I have no chairs to sit on.
When I was a young man
I razed my fields,
Now I have no fruit to suck on.
They say I am a sick old man
See my sick old frame
Smell my death as I pass by you.
My sick old wife
She ends her life
Waiting at the old front door
Women offer wisdom that
She never had,
Never had,
Never had before.
Oh what can I feed you smelly bag?
When kids turn so gravy oh
Tonight I'll sleep in the cold open field
In the arms of the raggle-taggle gypsies-oh
Ragged ragged rats all about our door,
She's gone with the raggle-taggle gypsies-oh
When I was a young lad,
I ground my nines,
Now I have no friends to call on
When I was a young man,
I cracked my eyes,
Now I have sharp glass to crawl on.
Oh the days of wealth and knees,
When I had dark oil for burning.
Oh I was a young man with my golden pipe,
And now I am too sick for learning.
And I will blame the wanderer,
I will blame the poor,
I will blame the ragged man
A-knockin' at my door
I'll blame his wife and ragged children
Crying at my feet
And send them into yarl's wood
My vengence there
Vengence there
Vengence there to eat
Oh what can I find use for a bag,
When kids turn so gravy oh,
Tonight I'll sleep in the cold open field
In the arms of the raggle-taggle gypsies-oh
Come with the raggle-taggle gypsies-oh.
Come with the raggle-taggle gypsies-oh.
Come with the raggle-taggle gypsies-oh.
She's gone with the raggle-taggle gypsies-oh.
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