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Lyrics
there's a man in barbados who knows the score
he gives the people a little, then he takes it back,
but they still cry, 'more, more'
he owns four shirts that look just the same
and no one remembers his name
when he's out on the square, the light in his hair
he smiles and say, 'i am your saviour'
an old woman stands, takes a flower from his hands
but she don't know what he gave her
the people all gather to see the man with the marvelous eyes
he tells them of the wonder and the healing of love
and finally of tithes
they all seem quite convinced that this is what they meant by messiah
for no matter how close they get, he seems larger and higher
they all bow down before the man with the score and beg he look down and bless them
the old woman stands, flower wilting in her hands, and says, 'i have a question'
she says, 'lord, my lord, why do i call and you not come?' he says,
'woman, i've got to give to all of these people here, so stand in line and you shall get some'
but when she turns around, the look in her eyes goes from sorrow to rage to mad frown
she picks up the petals of the flower he gave and with one blow she knocks him down
the people all fall silent at the sight of their leader's demise
the old woman stands, throws the flower from her hand, and says, 'lets think on this for a little while'
she says, 'lord, my lord, why did you send the man with the score?
you give the people a little, and, then, you take it back, but we still cry, 'more, more'
but when she hears no reply, she lets out a sigh as she watches the crowd disperse
the man with the score, his body now sore, says, 'at least i was well-rehearsed'
now when he's seen on the square, dull white in his hair, he smiles and says, 'i'm just a player'
the old woman stands with beads in her hands, and gives up a prayer
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