Mere minstrels are we
Set low in society -
By song put to bed,
By word praised when dead .
Common thieves are we,
Pickpockets guilty
Of nimble-fingered theft,
'Til nothing new is left.
So come on, come on,
Come on, come on, come on -
Follow me, follow me,
To where the piper, the drummer,
The singer, the strummer
Hold the key -
The key.
Lepers with long hair -
Thin as rakes, God's mistakes.
Troubadours with sores
And begging bowls at sullen doors.
Sad madmen are we,
Jesters and jugglers of mimicry -
Borrowers of birdsong,
Lenders of nought,
Silent when caught.
So come on, come on,
Come on, come on, come on -
Follow me, follow me,
To where the piper, the drummer,
The singer, the strummer
Hold the key -
The key.
Mere minstrels we may be,
But we hold the key
To the happiness that you seek -
It's in the quiet between the beats.
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