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You'll always have smokes if you always give buckets of love |
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Like little sad Tad who was living on beetles and grubs |
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He ha d blued eyed merle |
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And loved an Indian girl |
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Lived alone in the war wet field in this corner of the world |
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You'll always eat bread if you always have seeds to sow |
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Like old Zen Ben who lived with a murder of crows |
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He wore a crown of beans |
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And a belt of weeds |
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Slept alone in the warm wet fields on a bed of mustard seed |
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You won't lose the beat if you just keep clapping your hands |
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Like sweet sweet Pete who clapped for the Ruminant Band |
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He had a broken lung |
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And a bit-off tongue |
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Lived alone in the warm wet fields under moon and under sun |
