I wonder what it is that motivates the creatures of the night To circle ‘round the high-walled garden Looking for a way inside

The smell of babies’ breath, I guess The supple fruit of all good flesh The crumbling cookie, flaxseed cake The brick and fire which we bake with The hearty fruit on sturdy vine With love as sweet as yesterday’s wine

The boiling pot, the mother’s cub A warning shot fired up above As old as hills, a fear instilled A caution sign, a chilly spine

The coal-black coat, the beady eyes The slither and the scale and size They’ll warn you once, they’ll tell you twice Entreat you to take their advice They’ll treat you bad, they’ll treat you nice They’ll turn your blood as cold as ice

Hard times make strong men Strong men make good times Good times make soft men Soft men make hard, hard times

Hard times make strong men Strong men make good times Good times make soft men Soft men make good wine Good wine make good time Good times make hard, hard times