The King is sitting on his throne,
His white well-groomed beard
He pays heed to obsequious men
whose truth he has never heard
The lady with waxed shoes,
Has never smelt the soil
Under her manicured nails
that didn’t know the toil
I am just a poor man
on his own
But they will never know
what I’ve known
The Queen, at sunset gazing
is impassive and alone
Imprisoned in a golden jail
A heart could turn to stone
The bishop from the pulpit
Is judging us down here
He never knew those small sins
which make our life so dear
I am just a poor man
on his own
But they will never know
what I’ve known
The peasant with the hunched back
Clumps along his path
Shattered by the struggles
Of that rugged life he hath
He stands up there on the hill
Cherishing the dawn
A smile drawn on his face
While he softly croons this song
I am just a poor man
on his own
They will never know
what I’ve known
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