TROUBADOR

The troubadour stands in front of the crowd
With eyes soft and dreamy he gazes around
He tries to remember, he tries to forget
As he sings them his tales of pity and regret

He takes his guitar and begins to strum
His words tumble out, he knows not where from
But the chattering crowd they look on with disdain
They don’t want to listen, they’ve never heard his name

Troubadour, troubadour
He has a tale to tell
Troubadour, troubadour
He knows it so well

His songs they pour out like whiskey from a flask
His melodies they flow like ale from a cask
The crowd they ask him for mirth and for cheer
But his thoughts they are dark as the colour of his beer

He’ll play his sweet music to all who have ears
He’ll sing of his visions, he’ll sing of his fears
He’ll play them a ballad, a lilting lament
He’ll play till his voice and his fingers are spent

Troubadour, troubadour
He has a tale to tell
Troubadour, troubadour
He knows it so well

His sad eyes  carry the burden of society’s ills
This melancholy minstrel, he’s had more than his fill

He’ll play in the morning, he’ll stay there all night
He’ll play for your pleasure, he’ll play for a pint
He’ll play for the coin you toss into his hat
He’ll play for the pauper and the aristocrat

Troubadour, troubadour
He has a tale to tell
Troubadour, troubadour
He knows it so well

Troubador, troubadour
Give them a song
And then play them one more
Troubador, troubadour
Give them another
Then play your encore