True I was a gardener, once upon a time.
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When the world ws young and all the earth was mine
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Mine to tend to, to plough and to sow.
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Before mankind came and rendered all things low.
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And beauty was it's first name by this I would call.
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And ready the harvest for one and for all.
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The orchards and the wheatfields which could of fed the world,
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Were divided up like money and sold through human slaves
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The rivers fresh, the hillsides that had no need of name,
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Now ran red with the life blood and drunk with guilty shame.
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The gentle bough was broken and twisted out of shape,
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And who knows the consequences when the bough doth break,
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The mother soil which reared it's young, now reared her angry head,
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And rain fell down like teardrops upon the flower beds.
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The blame for this I'm in no doubt, is mine and mine alone,
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But so proud was I of my work, I had to share it's growth -
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'Tis true I was a gardener in the time before the flood,
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Now these greenfingers of mine - are stained by angels blood.
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THE GARDENER OF EDEN
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| Style Council |
