There once was a good old man of plenty, man of plenty he.
He built him a house on the edge of the town,
High as the tallest tree.
He built the roof of solid gold, the walls of solid clay.
and in the basement, on the floor, his wife and children lay.
"O why o why, our father dear, o why o why," said they,
"In such a manner must we be? O why o why, we pray?
For such a goodly man as you to hold us here this way."
But father was not even home, to an empty house spoke they.
So there they were and there they are and there they'll ever stay,
Beneath the biggest house in town whose master is away.
While all the riches of the world are locked away from all,
We sit beneath the world of light and wait for the master's call.
