idoodle

Well I'll sing you the story of a sorrowful lad;
had everything he wanted, didn't want what he had.
He had wealth and pelf and name and fame and all of that noise;
he didn't have none of those simple joys.
His life seemed purposeless and flat;
aren't you glad you don't feel like that?

Wouldn't you
rather be a left-handed flea,
a crab on a slab at the bottom of the sea,
a newt on the root of a banyan tree,
a fig on a twig in Galilee,
than a man who never learns how to be free?
Not til he's underground.