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There was a wicked messenger, |
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From Eli he did come, |
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With a mind that multiplied, |
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The smallest matter, |
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When questioned who had sent for him, |
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He answered with his thumb, |
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For his tongue it could not speak, but only flatter, |
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He stayed behind the assembly hall, |
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It was there he made his bed, |
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And often times he could be seen returning, |
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Until one day he just appeared, |
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With a note in his hand that read, |
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"The soles of my feet, I swear they're burning," |
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Oh, the leaves began to fall, |
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The seas began to part, |
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And the people that confronted him were many, |
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And he was told with these few words, |
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Which opened up his heart, |
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"If you cannot bring good news, don't bring any." |
