A farmer experiences Stockholm syndrome towards his dictatorial landlord.
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Lyrics:
"All your designs are amiss
there’s a thought i could fit in the size of my palm
Cheery eyed you little boy,
You’ve played with your toy,
Go back to your farm.
Raise your sword,
In the name of the lord,
And take the road
That speaks of his word.
Cast a lure
Hang his face on the door."
All my designs are amiss, oh.
How could I think I might be right?
It feels so bad to be the failure
But I think I’m fine, I have a savior,
A burden off, time to disappear,
Oh, till he is here.
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