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 laughing 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