The Year Turn Fablist

 

There was three kings into the east,
Three kings both great and high,
And they hae sworn a solemn oath
John Barleycorn should die.

There were three kings in West and East,

Three Kings with power to wield,

And they had sworn a solemn oath,

John Barleycorn must yield.

​

They took a plough and plough'd him down,
Put clods upon his head,
And they hae sworn a solemn oath
John Barleycorn was dead.

They moved the stream, expanded fields,

Poured tincture on his head,

And they had sworn a solemn oath

Yet all around was dead .

​

But the cheerful Spring came kindly on,
And show'rs began to fall;
John Barleycorn got up again,
And sore surpris'd them all.

And the changed Spring came later on

John Barley Corn grew tall

But migration patterns blew off course;

Floods met acid squall.

​

The sultry suns of Summer came,
And he grew thick and strong;
His head weel arm'd wi' pointed spears,
That no one should him wrong.

The sultry sun shone o’er swathes of land,

where once grew thick and strong,

Trees felled with machines’ razor spears,

now dead and long since gone.

​

The sober Autumn enter'd mild,
When he grew wan and pale;
His bending joints and drooping head
Show'd he began to fail.

The sober sight of uniform

 Rows of bland mono crops,

Flown far to meet a growing want,

For feed and stack'd foreign shops

​

His colour sicken'd more and more,
He faded into age;
And then his enemies began
To show their deadly rage.
More cattle graze and more and more,

 Global temperature rises,

 Poverty too while kings enjoy,

exploiting Earth for prizes

​

They've taen a weapon, long and sharp,
And cut him by the knee;
Then tied him fast upon a cart,
Like a rogue for forgerie

They’ve taken a weapon, long and sharp,

And cut into the sea;

Then drilled the oil and bled it dry,

Rogues with no authority.

​

They laid him down upon his back,
And cudgell'd him full sore;
They hung him up before the storm,
And turned him o'er and o'er.

They’ve found the mountains’ shallow cracks,

And cudgell’d them full sore;

They've burst the crevice and blown apart,

And will do o’er and o’er.

 

They filled up a darksome pit
With water to the brim;
They heaved in John Barleycorn,
There let him sink or swim.

They’ve filled up a darksome sky

With lights forever on;

They heave John Barleycorn around,

Freight - land, sea or air borne.

 

They laid him out upon the floor,
To work him farther woe;
And still, as signs of life appear'd,
They toss'd him to and fro.

Employees out on factory floor,

Will work with farther woe;

And yet, still signs of life appear;

These kings- they have to go.

 

They wasted, o'er a scorching flame,
The marrow of his bones;
But a miller us'd him worst of all,
For he crush'd him 'tween two stones.

They neglect to see a scorching flame,

In the marrow of our bones;

Our choices used for best of all,

 To make opinions known.

 

And they hae taen his very heart's blood,
And drank it round and round;
And still the more and more they drank,
Their joy did more abound.

And they have taen Earth’s very heart’s blood

Rise up. Enough! we cry.

No more should kings exploit our world;

John Barleycorn must die!

 

John Barleycorn was a hero bold,
Of noble enterprise;
For if you do but taste his blood,
'Twill make your courage rise.

Now we must be a hero bold,
Of noble enterprise;
Resist the traps of modern glut,
And make our courage rise.

​

'Twill make a man forget his woe;
'Twill heighten all his joy;
'Twill make the widow's heart to sing,
Tho' the tear were in her eye.

To fight for what we know is right;

To restore what we have lost;

To make the whole Earth’s heart to sing;

Meet her eye, and face the cost.

 

Then let us toast John Barleycorn,
Each man a glass in hand;
And may his great posterity
Ne'er fail in old Scotland.

Then let us toast John Barleycorn

Each man a glass in hand

And may his great posterity

Be just one in all the land.