Somewhere down south of here There’s a woman with an armload of grass Weaving a basket That’ll float the Rio Grande She’ll send her baby on it The river running wild and fast To curry the favor Of whatever Pharoah owns the land
A seed of an idea Like mustard greens Like newborn fingers Curled and half asleep Awake
From her mouth, a vineyard Of swears and hallelujahs entwined A new wine is vinted A blend of sweet commandment
Oh, to hell with the semantics The camel and the cable confide The eye of a needle Is tall enough to stand inside
A seed of an idea Like mustard greens Like newborn fingers Curled and half asleep Awake with a thunder From underneath Stretch up and reach through The hardest part of me
May all our tinfoil idols Lay crumpled on the ground And our pre-fab Olympus Divided by the thousand Oh, maybe I’m naive for thinking That a mountain so stubborn can move But if I’m a mountain moving I think maybe you can be, too