The Good Son
One more man goneOne more man goneOne more man is gone
The good son walks into the fieldHe is a tiller, he has a tiller’s handsBut down in his heart nowHe lays down his queer plansAgainst his brother and against his familyYet he worships his brotherAnd he worships his motherBut it’s his father, he says, is an unfair manThe good sonThe good sonThe good son
The good son has sat and often weptBeneath a malign star by which he’s keptAnd the night-time in which he’s wrappedSpeaks of good and speaks of evilAnd he calls to his motherAnd he calls to his fatherBut they are deaf in the shadowsOf his brother’s truancyThe good sonThe good sonThe good sonThe good son
And he curses his motherAnd he curses his fatherAnd he curses his virtue like an unclean thingThe good sonThe good sonThe good son
One more man goneOne more man goneOne more manOne more man goneOne more man goneOne more manOne more man goneOne more man goneOne more man