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A man is digging in the delta |
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In the dark soil with his bare hands |
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To work the land for generations |
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Is he a fool? |
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And I am working in my garden |
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To stem the tide of grass and weeds |
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With the green machine and roto-tiller |
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I break for lunch |
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The man has planted all his seeds now |
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His tired hands are black with oil |
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Nothing grows |
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The man is thin and hungry because he's lazy |
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The seeds are sprouting in my garden |
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My soft white hands are stained with blood |
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Again this year |
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I will reap the harvest that |
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I deserve |
