Workhouse

[Verse 1] Walking, hand-in-hand, with no noise across the floorboards The man leads the boy stepping slowly through the four wards A matron dressed in dark blue smiles, her caring her profession “Come on”, she says “he’ll see you, though there will be no confession [Bridge 1] Thank goodness he’s not giving any trouble He seems to think that he is living in a bubble” And there’s a singing in the pipes, it seems to echo in your bones You’ll hear it ringing in your blood type, on and on it drones: [Chorus 1] “Don’t let them take me to the workhouse, when I am frail and old I’d rather die out on the streets exposed to the hail and the cold” [Verse 2] Looking, through the window, at the narrow old man’s cot His raised hand casts a shadow, like an arrow never shot: The nurse says to the small boy “look, he’s waving just at you” The child holds up his hand as though uncertain what to do [Bridge 2] “He thinks he doesn’t have very long And I’d say that he is probably not wrong But where there’s life there is tenacity, when all real hope has gone” You’ll hear the pipe is singing fitfully, the genes are whirring on: [Chorus 2] “Don’t let them take me to the workhouse, where they wear hobnail boots And the children walk to school each day in black or navy suits” [Middle] And tomorrow night, if you look up, beyond the stratosphere You’ll see two lights a-twinkling as his time to leave draws near And as the evening song surrounds us he’ll be joining in the hymn And although his voice was always loud, you’ll hear it start to dim His voice will start to dim... [Chorus 3] “Don’t let them take me to the workhouse, they will sully my good name And if I survive the operation, I’ll die of the shame But if I end up in the workhouse you must get up off your knees for me; Sing tunes to help you grieve more easily”