Last at The Table — текст песни (Ellis Paul)

Preacher wont you preach to me,

I need a pint of philosophy.

Im hurt and thirsty, set me on my way.

Mondays come and mondays go,

But this one seems to be sort of slow.

Can you tell me sir, when will there come a change?



Im the one whos last at the table,

Im the one who never gets the gold.

Youre the one who says Im able,

But you turn your words with lies and fables...

Mothers wont you cry for me,

Ill sell your tears for a token fee



On a street corner where drunk patrons stand laughing.

And theyll stop, theyll stare at me,

Scratch at their heads, "how can this be? "

Ill say, "i was born like you, --

" then Ill startin dancin...



Hello, mr. bureaucrat.



You pick whos thin -- you pick whos fat.

Now what makes you so fit for the shoes you walk in?

In an office space you get a taste



For paper money and paper waste.

Now who gets what depends on who is talking...