I’ll give you a song about Edward The Young
Lived in the day by the might of his tongue
Working his words in the markets of song
Never dividing the right from the wrong
Edward The Young, Edward The Young
Broke every promise he profited from
Edward The Young, Edward The Young
Never remaining to reap what would come

He traveled the world on mountain and sea
Spending his riches as soon as could be
Eating the finest of flesh and of vine
Drinking of many a better man’s wine
Wiping his chin on the finest of sleeves
But never misjudging the moment to leave
Edward The Young, Edward The Young
People would swear he was lucky or dumb
Edward The Young, Edward The Young
Always too late would they see what he’d done

For many a year lived he in this way
Never a landlord or bill did he pay
Til some fateful judgment did Edward befall
And this is the tale I’ll relate to you all
It was in the summer just after the war
With all of the sailors returning to shore
And Edward was neatly ensconced and ensnared
In love and in debt of a war widow’s care
Edward The Young, Edward The Young
Sooner or later ‘twas sure bound to come
Edward The Young, Edward The Young
This is the way that his way was undone
Her name was Lucia, she lived in the town
And thinking her husband was deep underground
She opened her cupboards and opened her thighs
That wily young Edward might eat what’s inside
Her offer he took for a good many weeks
But then early one morning the hallway did creak
And there in the dark of the bed chamber’s door
Stood the tall form of her man from the war
Edward The Young, Edward The Young
Back from the war did his reckoning come
Edward The Young, Edward The Young
Caught with another man’s wife on his tongue

“My husband Rudolfo”, did Lucia cry
“I thought in the trenches of France did you die.”
But answer her not did the man in the door
But turned his attention to Ed on the floor
He said, “For many a year I have fought in the war
And after the armistice came back to shore
Returning to tend to my false hearted wife
I planned to resign her the rest of my life
But now you have taken my wife in my bed
And so I will leave you with her in my stead
But I’ll make you this promise: that e’re you should leave
The side of Lucia, your manhood I’ll cleave.”
Edward The Young, Edward The Young
Seems that his race has been finally run
Edward The Young, Edward The Young
All of his rambling days are now done
And so Edward lives in her house to this day
Working and slaving his whole life away
No longer roaming, no longer free
Til Edward will deadwardly finally be
Edward The Young, Edward The Young
Now that his ladder has run out of rungs
Edward The Young, Edward The Young
He would be pleased that his song is still sung

My name is Lucia, the wife in that song
You may not remember me I wasn't there long
I spoke but a word and then nevermore
And functioned therein more or less as a whore
Partly a lover, partly a wife
But never allotted a brain or a life
So much is expected for when women are writ
By the hand of a man they aren't more than a tit
To feed on, to fight for, to bind and betray
To dream of, and flee from, with nothing to say
Edward The Young, Edward The Young
Typical man in a typical song
Edward The Young, Edward The Young
Punished for keeping a woman too long

If women must serve as a mere conduit
For men to relate to each other, I quit
So finish the story of Edward alone
I’ll head off and write me a song of my own
Lucia’s free, Lucia’s free, Out from beneath all your misogyny
Lucia’s free, Lucia’s free, Tired of being a male fantasy
But this is all bullshit, this woman’s complaint
Writ by a man who is far from a saint
He thought he could cleverly rewrite his wrongs
By refusing to end this ridiculous song

Edward The Young, Edward The Young
Thinly disguising my own mother’s son
Edward The Young, Edward The Young
Now is the time when the song’s really done