There is another land
A land that no one knows
Where dwells a little man
Who toils, and reaps, and sows
He works from dawn to dusk
Though tired, he cannot stop
His hands grow rough and sore
From nurturing his crop
He gauges the sun and wind
He hoes, and waters, and weeds
He follows his intuition
And prays that he succeeds
It's all a delicate balance
Between too much rain... and none
Will his knowledge stand the test?
To complete what he's begun
There's no one to advise him
His decisions are his own
It's up to him to till the soil
Until his crops are grown