Da inútil perfeição (para N.) Lucky Man He had white horses And ladies by the score All dressed in satin And waiting by the door Oooh, what a lucky man he was Oooh, what a lucky man he was White lace and feathers They made up his bed A gold covered mattress On which he was laid He went to fight wars For his country and his king Of his honor and his glory The people would sing A bullet had found him His blood ran as he cried No money could save him So he laid down and he died Oooh, what a lucky man he was Oooh, what a lucky man he was Emerson, Lake and Palmer. --------