kicked the empty pail

we have no choice but to accept hard fate
wishes and pains into one bucket fall
what we destroy you cannot now create
the animal has long since fled its stall
and other creatures underfoot may crawl
but you have no occasion in the night
to hope that any worker could requite
the efforts that you make in hasty song
the words are normal and the thought is trite
the prize will never go the the most strong

we read the message and we wiped the slate
we gave you our best effort gave our all
and our reward is for you to delate
to make that one unnecessary call
and hear your laughter as we loudly bawl
our only option now is rapid flight
out into darkness far from any light
after a struggle that lasted too long
we cannot yet your villainy requite
the prize will never go to the most strong

the dried-up river will be in full spate
our tiny promise will not seem so small
take little comfort in your pomp and state
you have no shelter against shower or squall
the wisest have already fled your hall
your priest is drunk and has forgot the rite
the greatest hope you have is truly slight
and we can hear the beating of the gong
your vaunted plenty has become a blight
the prize will never go to the most strong

prince we forsake you in your dreadful plight
unhelped by servant or by satellite
you must admit your actions all were wrong
you'll learn the meaning of the lash's bite
and have no pleasure left in force and might
the prize will never go to the most strong