He’s the kind of man to salt a snail
So I’ll ask him to bring me
Three sparrows and three pigeons to
Fly home and burn his town, oh
Such silly useful idiots
Always flying home
To their bad masters

Your neighbours behave
Only in intact chains
And your city isn’t far
For fire to hone, no
Because of hollow marrow
Fire will carbonise it all
And I will get the last laughs
When I’m finished with their pastures

So I’ll ask him to bring me
Three sparrows and three pigeons to
Fly home and burn his town, oh
Such silly useful idiots
Always flying home
To their bad masters