It seems my well sprung a leak tonight
When I found it I had quite a fright
It seems lowly serfs have a clever way
Of maneuvering from their plight
Make no mistake I'm a wealthy man
And for the greater good I do what I can
But if helping peasants were my only goal
The would have been liberated a long time ago
And a pittance of gold in my pocket
Is worth a pound in your grave
If I had a vault I would lock it
You're not my burden to save
So go fetch my coin, knave
Or fetch me the finer grain
Go fetch my coin, knave
Or fetch me the finer grain
We are bendable figures
With hands on the triggers
We're soft and conform to any shape that he puts us in
We're twistable wires
The smoke of his fire
Good sir we're no liars or grifters in sport of sin
It takes a while to think, burn a candle, you cannot sleep
It takes a while to think, burn a candle, you cannot sleep
It takes a while to dream, when Black Phillip's lurking underneath
It takes a while to think, burn a candle, we cannot sleep
We're rogues in a nation
Of impure agnation
We don't know how to speak
We are jumbled and tangled up
If you give us half a chance
We'll make good your advance
Please accept our humble gift
See no rust with this silver cup
It takes a while to think, burn a candle, you cannot sleep
It takes a while to think, burn a candle, you cannot sleep
It takes a while to dream, when Black Phillip's lurking underneath
It takes a while to think, burn a candle, you cannot sleep
Kind sir we have nothing
But bad crop and horned kings
Our hope not a wellspring
Instead it is drained into hills of
Rotten apples
Were thrust from our chapel
And we have made no friends
We have only met our end
What troubles I have known
Black Philip stole my home
You've laid quite a story against my ear
But not one of penitence, it is of fear
If lowly serfs always got their way
I wouldn't be stood before you today
Make no mistake, I believe your tale
But it does not pardon from a faulty sale
A silver cup may not bear me rust
But it does not palliate my disgust
And a pittance of gold in my pocket
Is worth a pound in your grave
If I had a vault I would lock it
You're not my burden to save
An ounce of gold in my pocket
Is worth a pound in your grave
I will not take this from a peasant
Not much more than a slave
So go fetch my coin, knave
Or fetch me the finer grain
Go fetch my coin, knave
Or fetch me the finer grain
Intrinsic Factor - Black Phillip Lyrics
Intrinsic Factor - Black Phillip Lyrics
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It seems my well sprung a leak tonight
When I found it I had quite a fright
It seems lowly serfs have a clever way
Of maneuvering from their plight
Make no mistake I'm a wealthy man
And for the greater good I do what I can
But if helping peasants were my only goal
The would have been liberated a long time ago
And a pittance of gold in my pocket
Is worth a pound in your grave
If I had a vault I would lock it
You're not my burden to save
So go fetch my coin, knave
Or fetch me the finer grain
Go fetch my coin, knave
Or fetch me the finer grain
We are bendable figures
With hands on the triggers
We're soft and conform to any shape that he puts us in
We're twistable wires
The smoke of his fire
Good sir we're no liars or grifters in sport of sin
It takes a while to think, burn a candle, you cannot sleep
It takes a while to think, burn a candle, you cannot sleep
It takes a while to dream, when Black Phillip's lurking underneath
It takes a while to think, burn a candle, we cannot sleep
We're rogues in a nation
Of impure agnation
We don't know how to speak
We are jumbled and tangled up
If you give us half a chance
We'll make good your advance
Please accept our humble gift
See no rust with this silver cup
It takes a while to think, burn a candle, you cannot sleep
It takes a while to think, burn a candle, you cannot sleep
It takes a while to dream, when Black Phillip's lurking underneath
It takes a while to think, burn a candle, you cannot sleep
Kind sir we have nothing
But bad crop and horned kings
Our hope not a wellspring
Instead it is drained into hills of
Rotten apples
Were thrust from our chapel
And we have made no friends
We have only met our end
What troubles I have known
Black Philip stole my home
You've laid quite a story against my ear
But not one of penitence, it is of fear
If lowly serfs always got their way
I wouldn't be stood before you today
Make no mistake, I believe your tale
But it does not pardon from a faulty sale
A silver cup may not bear me rust
But it does not palliate my disgust
And a pittance of gold in my pocket
Is worth a pound in your grave
If I had a vault I would lock it
You're not my burden to save
An ounce of gold in my pocket
Is worth a pound in your grave
I will not take this from a peasant
Not much more than a slave
So go fetch my coin, knave
Or fetch me the finer grain
Go fetch my coin, knave
Or fetch me the finer grain
When I found it I had quite a fright
It seems lowly serfs have a clever way
Of maneuvering from their plight
Make no mistake I'm a wealthy man
And for the greater good I do what I can
But if helping peasants were my only goal
The would have been liberated a long time ago
And a pittance of gold in my pocket
Is worth a pound in your grave
If I had a vault I would lock it
You're not my burden to save
So go fetch my coin, knave
Or fetch me the finer grain
Go fetch my coin, knave
Or fetch me the finer grain
We are bendable figures
With hands on the triggers
We're soft and conform to any shape that he puts us in
We're twistable wires
The smoke of his fire
Good sir we're no liars or grifters in sport of sin
It takes a while to think, burn a candle, you cannot sleep
It takes a while to think, burn a candle, you cannot sleep
It takes a while to dream, when Black Phillip's lurking underneath
It takes a while to think, burn a candle, we cannot sleep
We're rogues in a nation
Of impure agnation
We don't know how to speak
We are jumbled and tangled up
If you give us half a chance
We'll make good your advance
Please accept our humble gift
See no rust with this silver cup
It takes a while to think, burn a candle, you cannot sleep
It takes a while to think, burn a candle, you cannot sleep
It takes a while to dream, when Black Phillip's lurking underneath
It takes a while to think, burn a candle, you cannot sleep
Kind sir we have nothing
But bad crop and horned kings
Our hope not a wellspring
Instead it is drained into hills of
Rotten apples
Were thrust from our chapel
And we have made no friends
We have only met our end
What troubles I have known
Black Philip stole my home
You've laid quite a story against my ear
But not one of penitence, it is of fear
If lowly serfs always got their way
I wouldn't be stood before you today
Make no mistake, I believe your tale
But it does not pardon from a faulty sale
A silver cup may not bear me rust
But it does not palliate my disgust
And a pittance of gold in my pocket
Is worth a pound in your grave
If I had a vault I would lock it
You're not my burden to save
An ounce of gold in my pocket
Is worth a pound in your grave
I will not take this from a peasant
Not much more than a slave
So go fetch my coin, knave
Or fetch me the finer grain
Go fetch my coin, knave
Or fetch me the finer grain
Writer: Izzy Majcher
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid