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*****
And from all your flocks, you could have made your feast,
And never missed any twenty;
But you had to take my only lamb,
And you with your herds aplenty.
For eighteen months, I prayed no end
For the life of my best musician friend,
Who sang the heavens down to Earth,
And with firm feet on the ground.
To learn from him was my dearest dream,
But you sought my music's death, it seems--
Now my heart lies buried in his hands,
And all the dreams submerged and drowned.
(Chorus)
Now, if it's music that you crave,
In all creation, you could have had
Any singer who lives, or ever has lived,
In this world or any other.
Sweet songs ring out from every sphere;
Any sound or voice is yours to hear--
No need to snatch my treasured one,
My love, my music-brother...
(Chorus)
Now, people say you never err;
You cannot make mistakes, they swear.
There's no misstep in what you will,
Your judgment ne'er mistaken.
Ah, but the facts here are not so sublime,
'Cause you went and stumbled bloody well this time;
And I want back everything I lost,
Restored, all that was taken--
And from all your flocks, you could have made your feast,
And never missed any twenty;
But you had to take my only lamb,
And you with your herds aplenty.
And I want back my only lamb,
You with your herds aplenty.
Give me back my only lamb,
You with your herds aplenty.
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