The pastor stood at odds with every
sermon read, and once he learned
to speak in knots, he never had
to wear his share of scarlet- what a shame
they caught a word he said
You shouldn't live to second-guess
but certain thoughts, they think they ought
to roam the sheets before you dress
and drag you down the stairway, raring
open-mouthed to down the morning spread
I'll pile their plates as high as towers
if they'll just go back to bed
I took you for a sailing boat,
a steady-calm, parading float
I sent with shuddered waves until I saw
what I was made of-- shabby coat
to throw upon a lake of mud and thinning ice
a hollow tone
an echo dry that wouldn't fall
from any body but a stone
Now I'm giving only what I've found
I hear you're living deep inside the ground
A walking sore to clean and dress,
a mess to sweep below the feet
He's sure to take a pound of flesh
if he would only show some teeth
and meet you where you came to grow
a lemon tree
and hoped to live it down
A rope's an awful thing to give
to someone happy on the ground
Now I'm giving only what I've found
I hear you're living deep inside the ground