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MERCUTIO IN PENNY-LOAFERS

twelve were my kin; e-lev-en, my broth-ers
ten were my slaves, oh, where have they gone
nine were my fools, eight were my her-oes
se-ven, my min-strels draf-ting their songs
six were the en-e-my, five were my friends
how might i see them and touch them a-gain
four were my spies, three were my lov-ers
two were my bib-les
one was my tes-ta-ment

for-ward i flew, fast toward to-mor-row
of-ten for-get-ting the tasks of to-day
ig-nor-ing the ruins of yes-ter-day's free-doms
these in my mind for-e-ver will stay
oh what a pi-ty i've ne-ver out-grown
cot-ton-tailed dreams that pro-fit me none
but still i've got time, and still i've got wis-dom
and, come the chill
my har-vest-ing will be done

loud-ly i laughed with the outs of my in-no-cence
sound-ly i scoffed at the knights of my day
like mer-cu-ti-o, in pen-ny-loaf-er shoes
bend-ing the truth to my blade

loud-ly i laughed with the outs of my in-no-cence
sound-ly i scoffed at the knights of my day
like mer-cu-ti-o, in pen-ny-loaf-er shoes
bend-ing the truth to my blade, and
bleed-ing my best years a-way