The Good Son

One more man gone

One more man gone

One more man is gone

The good son walks into the field

He is a tiller, he has a tiller's hands

But down in his heart now

He lays down his queer plans

Against his brother and against his family

Yet he worships his brother

And he worships his mother

But it's his father, he says, is an unfair man

The good son

The good son

The good son

The good son has sat and often wept

Beneath a malign star by which he's kept

And the night-time in which he's wrapped

Speaks of good and speaks of evil

And he calls to his mother

And he calls to his father

But they are deaf in the shadows

Of his brother's truancy

The good son

The good son

The good son

The good son

And he curses his mother

And he curses his father

And he curses his virtue like an unclean thing

The good son

The good son

The good son

One more man gone

One more man gone

One more man

One more man gone

One more man gone

One more man

One more man gone

One more man gone

One more man