Tom of Bedlam
Empty Hats Lyrics

To find my Tom of Bedlam
I search for my beloved Tom who is a madman from Bedlam, a notorious insane asylum in London.

Ten thousand years I travel
I feel like I have been searching for Tom for an eternity.

Mad Maudlin goes on dirty toes
Mad Maudlin is a nickname for alcohol, and I drink it despite my tattered shoes and feet that are covered in dirt and dust.

To save me shoes from gravel
I drink alcohol because it numbs the pain of walking barefoot on rocky roads.

Still I sing bonny boys, bonny mad boys, Bedlam boys are bonny. For they all go bare and they live by the air, And they want no drink nor money.
I continue to sing about the Bedlam Boys, a group of madmen who live carefree lives without materialistic desires like clothes or money, and only need the air to survive.

I now repent that ever Poor Tom was so disdain-ed.
I regret that society has labeled Tom as a madman and has rejected him as an outcast.

My wits are tossed and semi-crossed Which makes me thus go chain-ed.
I am mentally unstable and that is why I have been chained up in Bedlam like Tom.

I went to Pluto's kitchen, To beg some food one morning.
I begged for food in the morning, and in my delusional state, I believed I was in the kitchen of the god of the underworld, Pluto.

There I got souls spiking hot, While on the spit a-turning.
I saw souls being roasted on a spit, perpetuating my madness.

There I took up a caldron, Where I boiled ten thousand harlots.
I imagined myself boiling ten thousand sinners in a cauldron as punishment for their immoral deeds.

Though still a-flame I drank the same, With a health to all such varlets.
Despite being surrounded by flames, I drank the broth and toasted to all the immoral people, oblivious to the danger of my actions.

Me staff has murdered giants, Me bag a long knife carries, To cut mince pies from children's thighs, With which to feed the faeries.
I carry a staff and a knife to defend myself, even from imaginary threats, and in my madness, I claim to make pies from children's thighs to feed imaginary faeries.

No gypsy, slut, or doxie, Shall win me mad Tom from me.
I will not allow anyone, not even a woman of ill-repute, to take Tom away from me.

I'll weep all night with the stars I'll fight, The fray shall well become me.
I am willing to stay up all night, crying and fighting the stars, as it suits my insane nature.

So drink to Tom of Bedlam, Fill all the seas and barrels. I'll drink it all well brewed with gall, And maudlin drunk I'll quarrel.
Let's raise a glass to Tom of Bedlam and drink until the seas and barrels are empty, while I argue with drunk tears running down my face.

Still I sing bonny boys, bonny mad boys, Bedlam boys are bonny. For they all go bare and they live by the air, And they want no drink nor money.
I end the song as I started, singing praises of the Bedlam Boys for their mad and carefree nature that requires nothing but the air to survive.