I was wielding my axe 

drunk whisky at the bar 

every night coming home 

out the windshield of my car

I would look through the boughs

and think I saw my lucky star.

I was spreading my sheets

took dinner all alone

every night of the week

awaiting by the phone.

I would dab off my tears

with my favorite pine cone.

Needle prick my spruce root.

Dear little hemlock shoot,

Make me stay sharp,

and keen and evergreen.

I would tend to my bees 

sell honey on the road 

every fall in the wet

watching lorries take their load

And I'd get all my winnings 

ask for special sap in code

In August three weeks 

I'm back in village where I clip

all sorts of brambles and thorns 

From up the hill I pip

In a little clay cup 

the stuff I cross myself and sip.

Needle prick my spruce root

Dear little hemlock shoot

Make me stay sharp 

and keen, evergreen.

I was casting my line

angling way the day. 

The stream was swift, it was clear,

But the light was getting gray.

I bent down by the thistle

and thought of what it was I'd say.

Needle prick my spruce root

Dear little hemlock shoot

Make me stay sharp

And keen, evergreen.