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Grandmother's Garden

de John Archambault and David Plummer

at the firefly
we all tell lies
and the cleanup kid
hangs his head
he's the quiet type
came to la to write
but he never made it out of the fringes
keeps a low profile you kick him
he'll smile
thinks blood is his payment for losing
while me i'm hiding here
pretending that my mind is clear
a rock for the forgotten
but when i pour they smile
and say to me that i'm
a rock for the forgotten
a bottle got broke
in a fight over dope
and the mean old man
washed his hands
all the troubles he's seen
seems like a dream
while he washes away his sorrow
but either way i can tell that he prays
there will never be another tomorrow
while me i never change
i try to keep things just the same
a rock for the forgotten
and when i pour their smiles
say to me that i'm
a rock for the forgotten
maybe they'll come alive
see the soapbox man
is at it again
and the girls pass by avoiding his eye
he's the best there is
in the hellfire biz
a black belt in the art of babble
came from veracruz
when a bottle of booze
told him he had to rouse the rabble
while me i'm hiding here
pretending that my mind is clear
a rock for the forgotten
but when i pour they smile
and say to me that i'm a rock for
the forgotten
maybe they'll come alive

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