Only the dirt I do believe
As memory vanishes among the leaves
Wizard of tickets is always glad to charge a pilgrim’s fare
Jubilee’s generally early. Let’s take the country air
Mistreating granite, limestone, and clay. It’s a shameful soil
But all grows well on the floodplain tract if you can afford the toil
Cradled in ivy, we will allow
The moss to prosper upon our brows
Boxer rebellion, the Holy Child. They all pay their rent
But none together can testify to rhythm of a road well bent
Saddles and zip codes, passports and gates, the Jones’ keep
In August the water is trickling, in April it’s furious deep
Wizard of tickets is always glad to charge a pilgrim’s fare
Jubilee’s generally early. Let’s take the country air
Mistreating granite, limestone, and clay. It’s a shameful soil
But all grows well on the floodplain tract if you can afford the toil
Only the dirt I do believe
Divinity vanishes among the leaves
