i’ve never tilled a garden
i’ve never bent my back to strike an ax to wood
i’ve never raised a child and yet
i’ve certainly pretended that i’ve understood

i’ve never built a home
i’ve never even built a warming fire in the cold
i’ve never tilled a garden
i’ve never needed shelter when the thunder rolled

so what do i know?

i’ve never fired a gun
i’ve never even given up a nickel when had a dime
and if i suffered loss
i’ve only ever really cared about the loss of time

i’ve never been to war
and i’ve only ever watched the protests on tv
i’ve never tilled a garden
i’ve never really seen the truth inside of me

so what do i know?

i’ve never been to mexico
i’ve never drunk the water from the river or the ground
i’ve never built a well
i’ve never held a baby right before the wailing of its very first sound

i’ve never tilled a garden
i’ve never bent my back over a winter’s pile of wood
i’ve never tilled a garden
so how could i believe i’ve ever understood