I was wielding my axe dunk whisky at the bar every [bad word] home out of the windshield of my car
I would look through the boughs and think I saw my lucky star.
I was spreading my sheets took dinner all alone every night of the week awaiting by the phone
And I’d dab off my tears with my favorite pine cone.
Needle prick my [bad word] root
Dear little hemlock shoot
Make me stay sharp and keen, evergreen.
I would tend to my bees sell honey on the road every fall in the wet watching lorries take their load
And I’d get all my winnings ask for special sap in code
In August for three weeks I’m back in the village where I clip all sorts of brambles and thorns from up the hill I pip
In a little clay cup the stuff I cross myself and sip.
Needle prick my [bad word] root
Dear little hemlock shoot
Make me stay sharp and keen, evergreen.
I was casting my line angling way the day. The stream was swift, it was clear, ut the light was getting gray.
I bent down by the thistle and thought of what it was I’d say.
Needle prick my [bad word] root
Dear little hemlock shoot
Make me stay sharp and keen, evergreen.