Mountain Goats, The. Gravedigger. Zeneszám

the pumpkins grew in neat rows

he waltzed toward the center of the field

steady as show goes

and blue heavens built wishing wells

brightening the patch

fattening the pumpkins in their orange shells

we turned right by the smooth orange big one

the wrong way.



we tapped the pumpkins with our thumbs

and now how ya wait a year or so

nothing comes

it was like that empty bottles washed green by rain

having to lose ?here?

no reason to complain

we turned right by the smooth orange fat one

the wrong way.



tell me a secret

what does it matter

override the red clouds

hanging on the otherwise ?grave? sky

and then little raindrops like tiny knives

and I turned to you and the field comes alive

we took a smooth turn around the fattest pumpkin they had

the wrong way.