Ant Smith
donate to Ant Smith Print



Some lives are as pure as the snow the spring rains wash away
Bursting forth through frosted fields with fresh hopes for a new age
Ignorant that the place they grow is nought but last year's grave
That all life feeds upon the grief of forebears passed away

O little plant grow big and strong but please do wipe your feet
You've set your roots down in amongst the heart of life's disease
For your beauty feeds on carrion in this carousel
The merry-go-round of life and death is our private hell

Now winter's cessation gifts you this duty to excel
You've got to be greater than the shit upon which you dwell
The greatest sin is not living strong and successfully
Respect your still born kith and kin and what they may have been

So little plant grow big and strong
For on you we'll soon feed