Shovel, Shovel, Shovel

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All you cemetery men with your cemetery grin
Do you like the smell of earth in your skin?
How much longer can you stand being serfs on your own land?
You’re the smudges on the masterplan

Many temples have you struck busy practicing for luck
And the water table turns you to duck
Being patient’s not the same with a mark upon your name
And your blood as sweet as sugar cane

So when you gonna swing your shovel?

Black as pudding was the night, only fireflies for light
Yeah, my gunny sack was chock full of slights
Half a hemisphere away hired hands who rend and flay
Aw, I got no time for them today

Because I’m gonna use my shovel

Who’s spending so much time in a palace of virtue?
Who’s reading Left Behind? Where will that get you?

You better duck — here comes the shovel

Countless faces that you file fit together for a while
Melt into a superhuman smile
If you find you can’t go on racing with the cart at dawn
Look around — it’s already gone

While you were leaning on your shovel

You better duck — here comes the shovel

© 2009 John Brocato