Plants tend
To grow towards the sun
But with a stick
You can persuade them
To grow any way you want

People are not so different to plants
We’re all standing up so rigidly
When all we want to do is dance

A revolutionary whisper
Is blowing through the fields
They’re pulling up their roots
They don’t care about the yield

They’re all sending out fresh shoots
Binding seamlessly together
Theres a dance amongst the dandelions
There’s a *** down in the heather

The gardener stands perplexed
Snapped sticks dowsed in morning dew
Then he drops his *** and listens
Now the gardener dances too

Plants tend
To grow towards the sun
But with a stick
You can persuade them
To grow any way you want

People are not so different to plants
We’re all standing up so rigidly
When all we want to do is dance