| Song | The King Who Sold His Own |
| Artist | Chris Rea |
| Album | Chris Rea - Blue Guitars |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| One thousand stories, one thousand years | |
| Each song it goes from hand to hand | |
| They tell of kings, they sing of war | |
| And the news of far off distant lands | |
| They sing of how the blues came to be | |
| Their own king sold them into slavery | |
| The sad chords melt | |
| Where the sadness came to be | |
| When their own king sold them | |
| Into slavery | |
| One thousand stories, one thousand years | |
| The truth of guilt and shame | |
| But a king who sold his people out | |
| To a world of whips and chains | |
| The sound of pain the smell of fear | |
| A treason born in hell | |
| The king who sold his people out | |
| It's a song they know so well | |
| Cross the music, as you cross the sea | |
| Cross your loved ones broken bones | |
| Cos forever never to be free | |
| Oh the king who sold his own … | |
| Oh the king who sold his own … |
| One thousand stories, one thousand years | |
| Each song it goes from hand to hand | |
| They tell of kings, they sing of war | |
| And the news of far off distant lands | |
| They sing of how the blues came to be | |
| Their own king sold them into slavery | |
| The sad chords melt | |
| Where the sadness came to be | |
| When their own king sold them | |
| Into slavery | |
| One thousand stories, one thousand years | |
| The truth of guilt and shame | |
| But a king who sold his people out | |
| To a world of whips and chains | |
| The sound of pain the smell of fear | |
| A treason born in hell | |
| The king who sold his people out | |
| It' s a song they know so well | |
| Cross the music, as you cross the sea | |
| Cross your loved ones broken bones | |
| Cos forever never to be free | |
| Oh the king who sold his own | |
| Oh the king who sold his own |
| One thousand stories, one thousand years | |
| Each song it goes from hand to hand | |
| They tell of kings, they sing of war | |
| And the news of far off distant lands | |
| They sing of how the blues came to be | |
| Their own king sold them into slavery | |
| The sad chords melt | |
| Where the sadness came to be | |
| When their own king sold them | |
| Into slavery | |
| One thousand stories, one thousand years | |
| The truth of guilt and shame | |
| But a king who sold his people out | |
| To a world of whips and chains | |
| The sound of pain the smell of fear | |
| A treason born in hell | |
| The king who sold his people out | |
| It' s a song they know so well | |
| Cross the music, as you cross the sea | |
| Cross your loved ones broken bones | |
| Cos forever never to be free | |
| Oh the king who sold his own | |
| Oh the king who sold his own |