Lyrics:
born
And laid within a manger
Upon this blessed morn
The which His Mother Mary
Did nothing take in scorn
O tidings of comfort and joy,
Comfort
creating
Love child, never meant to be (wait, wait, won't you wait now, hold on)
Love child, (scorn by) society
Love child, always second best
Love
Tormented by a reality of suffering
Dispossess this agony that binds me
Barely living, constant dread
Withering awaiting my lonesome end
Years
Where are we supposed to go?
In a place of lies haunted by your shadow?
Everyone's trying to get out somehow
Finding blindly their path until now
Justice is served by killing you!
Funeral games shall honor out fallen sons
Once free condemned to savage torture
Aristocrats sit high and watch
born
And laid within a manger
Upon this blessed morn
The which His Mother Mary
Did nothing take in scorn
Oh, tidings of comfort and joy
Comfort
Firmin, just a brief reminder
My salary has not been paid
Send it care of the ghost by return of post
P.T.O.: no one likes a debtor
So it's better if my
Babe was born
And laid within a manger
Upon this blessed morn
The which His Mother Mary
Did nothing take in scorn
(Oh, tidings of comfort
Well you're crazy Mama
With your ball and chain
And your sawn off shotgun
Blown out brains, yeah
You can scandalize me
Scorn my name
Jewry,
This blessed Babe was born
And laid within a manger
Upon this blessed morn
The which His Mother Mary
Did nothing take in scorn
(O tidings
born
And laid within a manger
Upon this blessed morn
The which His Mother Mary
Did nothing take in scorn
O tidings of comfort and joy,
Comfort
Bethlehem in Jewry,
This blessed Babe was born
And laid within a manger
Upon this blessed morn
The which His Mother Mary
Did nothing take in scorn
(O
Jewry,
This blessed Babe was born
And laid within a manger
Upon this blessed morn
The which His Mother Mary
Did nothing take in scorn
(O tidings
was born,
And laid within a manger,
Upon this blessed morn;
That which His Mother Mary,
Did nothing take in scorn.
O tidings of comfort and joy,
born
And laid within a manger
Upon this blessed morn
The which His Mother Mary
Did nothing take in scorn
O tidings of comfort and joy,
Comfort
and enter my lungs
A scorn colder than the void's howling echo
Their cries for mercy muted by their own cleaved tongues
The cosmos shall hear
And would fight back memories of you.
You affected my life, oh I cannot deny that
You made believe that life's not for free.
But anger and scorn are not what
within a manger
Upon this blessed morn
The which His Mother Mary
Did nothing take in scorn
O tidings of comfort and joy comfort and joy
O tidings
had a vision
And you never have been tempted
By the Devil or the Lord
Yes, you who stand above them now
Your hatchets blunt and bloody
You were not
Oh list to the lay of a poor Irish harper
And scorn not the strains of his old, withered hands
But remember his fingers, they once could move
should I be forsaken,
Why must I here in sorrow remain?
Through yonder grove, by the spring that is running
There you and I have so merrily played,
was born
And laid within a manger
Upon this blessed morn
The which His Mother Mary
Did nothing take in scorn
O tidings of comfort and joy,
Oh list to the lay of a poor Irish harper
And scorn not the strains of his old, withered hands
But remember his fingers, they once could move
the mountains high
With cavalry and infantry to take him they did try
He laughed at them with scorn until at last 'twas said
By a false-hearted woman he was
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