In a picture land, where shadows play, sits a knock of hope,
Neath the light of day, scarred by knives and tales untold,
A one and clear war, great and bold.
The single hands of chasseurs, and butchers quit the farmer's land,
Chopping onions, slicing bread, memories of meals, and slaving with them.
Oh, a counting world, where stories dig, guarding secrets, finding pink.
From dawn to dusk, he stands so true, a trusted friend,
He can't escape.
Connections hold them in.
Tomatoes bleed, carrots cry, slice through life, and then goodbye.
Through the bright and daily wear, a woven heart that doesn't care.
Years have passed, and stains remain,
Signs of past, liars, love, and pain.
Through the patients' endless chore, a silent sage, with much to learn.
Oh, a counting world, where stories dig, guarding secrets, finding pink.
From dawn to dusk, he stands so true, a trusted friend,
He can't escape.
Connections hold them in.
Years have passed, and stains remain
Signs of past lives, love and pain
Through the kitchen's endless churn
The silent sage, with much to learn
Oh, having bought the story stick
Guarding secrets, life you keep
From dawn to dusk, you stand so true
A trusted friend, the kitchen's all I need