this is an old folk song I wrote
I might try to resurrect it
it was one of the 1st songs I've written trying to make a pleasing sound
too much will make you poor
better getting bigger
cannot be stopped
deafened by the thunder
or is that just the way he talks?
if there ain't no room for you to wander
then he loves you not
do you speak the language,
have you a hand to hold?
thinking you can stand it,
am I to go down alone?
the falling that it takes until I'm landed
is no longer than rope
the falling that it takes until I'm landed is no longer than rope
seems like ev'rytime you turn about another joker more
are you the joker in the crowd asking well what for?
too much, too much
too much will make you poor
the hardest work of all,
it is the worst paid
still y' might have washed your hands
before showing your face
it's good for your health they say
but it leaves a bad taste
so I told it to the mountain,
his most royal highness
n' to the silhouettes of false kings,
they were shouting in the darkness
let it be said that greater men
have died for less
let it be said that greater men have died for less
patience is a virtue, you cannot be too sure
you'll know it when I hurt you, you ain't no child no more
too much, too much
too much will make you poor
too much, too much
too much will make you poor
____________________
rightly