The Ruminant Band

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