Well, I'll sing you the story
Of a sorrowful lad
He had everything he wanted
Didn't want what he had
He had wealth and pelf and fame and name
And all of that noise
But he didn't have none of those simple joys
His life seemed purposeless and flat
Aren't you glad you don't feel like that?
So, he ran from all the deeds he'd done
He ran from things he'd just begun
He ran from himself
Which was mighty far to run
Out into the country
Where he played as a boy
He knew he had to find him some simple joy
He wanted someplace warm and green
We all could use a change of scene
Sweet summer evenings
Hot wine and bread
Sharing your supper
Sharing your bed
Simple joys have a simple voice
That says, "why not go ahead?"
And wouldn't you
Rather be a left-handed flea
Or a crab on a slab at the bottom of the sea
Than a man who never learns how to be free?
Not 'til he's cold and dead
♪
And wouldn't you
Rather be a left-handed flea
A crab on a slab at the bottom of the sea
Or a newt on the root of a banyan tree
Than a man who never learns how to be free?
Not 'til the day he dies
Sweet summer evenings
Sapphire skies
Feasting your belly
Feasting your eyes
Simple joys have a simple voice
That says, "time is living's prize"
And wouldn't you
Rather be a left-handed flea
A crab on a slab at the bottom of the sea
A newt on the root of a banyan tree
Or a fig on a twig in Galilee
Than a man who never learns how to be free?
Not 'til the day he
Not 'til the day he
Not 'til the day
Not 'til the day he
Dies