Father has the market place done us any good
like you always claimed it would
the field's dry and barren and there's blight upon the vine
as long as your cup's full everything is fine
Son has your sympathy done any good
like you always claimed it would
you sing to the choir and they know every line
but when they leave your world they return to mine
You think you voice is real
I thunder while you squeal
so you can ring their ears
but I'm the one they hear
