The Farmer's Big Spade

The eastern sun

It splits the drift of dust between

Where the window was

And the man I've come to scratch the back of

Here lies Floyd

Flexing his milksick muscles

My god he looks good

In his well swept room with his spineless lean

Who brought the straps to hold his ankles

Who carried in his air

Someone should tell him

Someone should

An adequate answer to his questions

Could be one truth too much

Someone should tell him

Someone should

Cut the garden, kiss the ring

Tend to the trembling legs again

Pour the oil, rub it in, oh

Another cow-mouth summer

In a fecund farmhouse west of eden

All bricks and puddles,

Wild edges meeting snakeroot corners

They called him the farmer's big spade

For his hard flat head and long lean legs

He hasn't changed

Since he made himself an early bed

So much for all that crumbles being

Rationed amongst the rats

Someone should tell him

Someone should

He saved every brick the wall dropped

To rebuild the other side

Someone should tell him

Someone should

Don't trust what the evening says

The farmer's spade has rusted red

I found his candle lit amongst the wheat

Where is the stone?

Roll it over

Put an end to everywhere

Meet the milk

See the foam drip

As the poison moves him

On, moving on

Is the light trick

Where the sunset meets the

Sea

Melting waves

Into hot dust

Into what they cannot be

On, moving on

Is the light trick

Where the sunset meets the

Sea

Melting waves

Into hot dust

Into what they cannot be