One more man gone. One more man gone. One more man is gone. The good son walks into the field. He is a tiller he has a tiller's hands. But down in his heart now. He lays down his queer plans. Against his brother and against his family. Yet he worships his brother. And he worships his mother. But it's his father he says is an unfair man. The good son. The good son. The good son. The good son has sat and often wept. Beneath a malign star by which he's kept. And the night-time in which he's wrapped. Speaks of good and speaks of evil. And he calls to his mother. And he calls to his father. But they are deaf in the shadows. Of his brother's truancy. The good son. The good son. The good son. The good son. And he curses his mother. And he curses his father. And he curses his virtue like an unclean thing. The good son. The good son. The good son. One more man gone. One more man gone. One more man. One more man gone. One more man gone. One more man. One more man gone. One more man gone. One more man. (Repeat).