I have built a roseproof fence, and I cut down all the gum trees,
Then I spread the screenings all over the lawn.
And I’ve trimmed the rhododendrums . . . by the roots, poisoned the willow,
And my concrete plastic soul is all in pawn.
But tomorrow is tomorrow, come the morning I’ll be up and struggling on.
There’s the mortgage and the plumber, and the boss is rude, but still we clamber on.

Well I built myself a screen, just to keep myself all separate,
The good bits in my lawn have turned to grass.
Then I slowly pulled my hair out by the roots . . . poisoned by tele,
And my plastic, zipless soul had come to pass.
But tomorrow is tomorrow, come the morning I’ll be up and struggling on.
Send a cheque for the insurance, pay the piper, soon a lifetime will be gone.

[change rhythm to horse-back ridin']

Well I hear I had a birthday, but I can’t recall the birth through all the pain.
So I’ll keep on riding bareback, ‘til I recognize the zookeepers,washing all our genitals again.
And I’ll hopefully keep growing, even though my roots kept getting cut again and again and again.
Things have certainly been worse, now I’m lying on the edge of sleep,
In a warm bed, listening to the rhythms in the rain.
And tomorrow is tomorrow, is enough, I think I’m lucky to be me.
Life is nature’s way of telling, that it’s all there if we only let it be.

© Bruce McNicol 31/5/1981