The Garden

Pus on your finger
Mud on your mind
The tiller is broken
Your garden is crying

There's been too much rain
Tomatoes they split
Spring was a beauty
But she turned into a beast

Your boy is rebellious
He refuses to work
Your daughter is a fine one
But allergic to dirt

The Preacher came a'calling
He wants a fresh ham
Your wife she obliges
Thaws the one you was saving

So you piddle in the garden
You pick at the ground
Your family is fighting
Oh, but you don't hear a sound