Kevin Wald: Asimov's _Foundation and Empire_, Part 2 I have a song to sing, O! Sing me your song, O! It is sung with a swoon At a marriage-moon, Followed close by a jeering throng, O! It's the song of a merryman, fled in fear, Whose tale of pathos did draw a tear, Who pled his plea, and who earned the ear Of a Trader in love with his ladye. Heighdy! Heighdy! Misery me, lackadaydee! He pled his plea, and he earned the ear Of a Trader in love with his ladye. I have a song to sing, O! What is your song, O! It is sung with the roar Of the ships of war As a prophet's Plan goes wrong, O! It's the song of the mentalist, mutant Mule, Whose grasp was great, and whose grip was cruel, Whose former merryman fled in fear, Whose tale of pathos did draw a tear, Who pled his plea, and who earned the ear Of a Trader in love with his ladye. Heighdy! Heighdy! Misery me, lackadaydee! He pled his plea, and he earned the ear Of a Trader in love with his ladye. I have a song to sing, O! Sing me your song, O! It is sung in the gloom Of a tome-trove tomb, Over lore that lay there long, O! It's the song of the scholar who sought the tale Of the long-lost pow'r that might prevail O'er the might of the mentalist, mutant Mule, Whose grasp was great, and whose grip was cruel, Whose former merryman fled in fear, Whose tale of pathos did draw a tear, Who pled his plea, and who earned the ear Of a Trader in love with his ladye. Heighdy! Heighdy! Misery me, lackadaydee! He pled his plea, and he earned the ear Of a Trader in love with his ladye. I have a song to sing, O! Sing me your song, O! It is sung with the jolt Of a blaster-bolt, And a death-knell's dark ding-dong, O! It's the song of the lady whose scholar friend She shot in shock, to the vital end That that self-same scholar not tell the tale Of the long-lost pow'r that might prevail, In front of the mentalist, mutant Mule, Who'd donned disguise, and played the fool As his own ex-merryman, fled in fear, Whose tele-pathos did draw a tear, But, Touching not that dame so dear, Was betrayed by the love of a ladye. Heighdy! Heighdy! Misery me, lackadaydee! The sooth he sought, and the realm he wrought, Were lost for the love of a ladye.