THE PRODIGAL

Billy-me-boy, Billy-me-boy,
What sayeth thee of thou?
Have thee ken a loss of senses, lad?
Have thee lost thy way somehow?

Billy-me-boy, Billy-me-boy,
We have heard no word from thee.
Has the cat aborted thy tongue, my lad,
And yet to set it free?

Billy-me-boy, Billy-me-boy,
We have set thy bed for sure,
And needs not more than we can give,
To welcome you home once more.

Billy-me-boy, Billy-me-boy,
Tis long since you were here,
And we miss your wit and style, lad,
And that homespun grand old cheer.

Billy-me-boy, Billy-me-boy,
Can't thee hear us through the mists?
Tis a fair and splendid day my son,
And a pity you should miss.

Billy-me-boy, Billy-me-boy,
Yet the drummer beats his tune,
Would you plan to make your way back son,
And do so mighty soon?

Billy-me-boy, Billy-me-boy,
We've placed flowers by the door,
And set them into skeins of gold,
To welcome you home once more.