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Scaevola's Fire
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The Baron Green
O, below is Farmer Tom, toiling at his till
That before his father gave to him against his will
As Baron Green's wagon disappears into the night
Yearning for his easel, Tom turns unto to his wife
and says
Don't you ever think we could be the same?
If I'd been born like him, I could have acclaim!
'Cause
Money has the poor man crowned
Money makes the world go round and round and
Money does my life confound
Money makes the world go 'round and 'round and 'round
Accompanied by avarice, Green grasps to understand
Superficiality, the women of his land
Fancying a farmer's wife, in barren fields below
Watching out his window, whispers sad and soft and low
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Don't you ever think we could be the same?
If I'd been born like him, she could speak my name…
But
Money has the poor man crowned
Money makes the world go round and round and
Money does my life confound
Money makes the world go 'round and 'round and 'round
Money has the poor man crowned
Money makes the world go round and round and
Money does my life confound
Money makes the world go 'round and 'round and 'round
And Round
And Round
And Round
And Round
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