Bring me a glass of water,
To wash the dirt from my throat,
I’ve been wandering my whole life out there,
Would you help me out of my coat?
This water’s as clear as crystal,
We should thank the Lord for that,
Now, sit you down and hear my story,
And find somewhere for my hat.
The barkeep takes the stranger’s hat,
And finds a vacant hook,
And turns back towards the traveller,
His right hand on an old black book.
The holy Book of Numbers,
I take it’s something that you’ve read?
The long search in the wilderness,
For a place to lay my head.
So many parables in the scriptures,
But this one I’m doomed to tell,
For I stormed the gates of Heaven,
To find myself in Hell.
This is my lonely mission,
To wake the world up to its fate,
To dismantle my own invention,
For the hour is getting late.
This holy Book of Numbers,
As I walk through the shadow of death,
Tell me are you listening, boy,
Or am I just wasting my breath?
There are fools in the courts of power,
While I’ve walked through this vale of bitter tears,
At the mercy of recording angels,
For three score and twenty five years.
The barkeep gets up from the table,
To fill up another glass,
When he turns around to find an empty chair,
All that’s left... is the name in his hat.