There’s a wicked wind whipping up the street
Past slap happy wanderers dead on their feet
There’s one eye looking through a looking glass
It’s dog eat dog, it’s cover your ass
There’s no time for nothing and there’s everything to lose
There’s marks against your credit you owe interest on your dues
There’s hounds in the palace singing the blues for the whipping boy
Repeat the chorus for the whipping boy
There’s a low moan mingling with a desperate prayer
The tone is shrill and the bone is bare
There’s a toddler starving in the light of day
But the shops are full, the mood is gay
There’s a man selling justice most honorably
He winks at the crowd as you enter your plea
You pay for your privilege the sentence is free for the whipping boy
Save the headlines for the whipping boy
Strike a match and pour some oil on the whipping boy
There’s a prophet praying by the river side
His mouth is closed and his eyes are wide
There’s a poet playing with a hang mans noose
The knot is tight and the mood is loose
There’s a man who is counting the newly deceased
His hair is combed neatly and his trousers are creased
And he shits in the room where the wheels are greased for the whipping boy
Load the chamber for the whipping boy
Put the barrel to the temple of the whipping boy
Acoustic rhythm guitar, whistle and vocals: Steve Carlson
Acoustic rhythm and lead guitars: Dan Sebranek
Electric guitar: Jordan Grunow
Wind Chimes: Tom Fabjance
|