[Intro] [Verse] I am an old bard who eats his cold lard whose voice has been scarred by cold disregard. [Verse] I sit on my throne and gnaw on a bone and sigh a small groan whilst I drink alone. [Verse] I lift up my lay, sing of ancient day to rowdy array, engrossed in their play. [Verse] I sing of grand things of princes and kings; making these worn strings soar on gilded wings. [Verse] My voice growing thin, fighting 'gainst the din; they care not a pin. (Need a sip of gin!) [Bridge - instrumental] [Verse] My tale my reward; I pluck one last chord before my dear Lord. (At least He's not bored!) [Verse - instrumental] [Outro]
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