It was once before a time called now
When we lazed the weeks away
With a work of art and a pint of beer
And all there was to say
For we made love in the afternoons
On the mattresses of youth
And I took all the rope that they gave
And that became my noose

When the streets were paved with poems
And a salary of song
When we never thought we'd have to work
Or anything could go wrong
Because there'd always be the old king cole
The sovereign of our loving
But the king was cut as was our luck
And now the week is working

Now the moral of this story is
Without them you have fun
I thought the wine and roses years
Had only just begun
But in their world life's to short for love
Money gives them pleasure
And without God they have marshaled time
Into but work or leisure