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