Beautiful Small Machines Follow

Hot wine and bread
Sharing your supper
Sharing your bed

Simple joys have a simple voice
That says, "Why not go ahead?"
And wouldn't you, rather be a left-handed flea
A crab on a slab, at the bottom of the sea

Than a man who never learns
How to be free
Not till he's cold and dead

Well, I'll sing you a story
Of a sorrowful lad
He had everything he wanted
Didn't want what he had

He had wealth and health
And name and fame
And all of that noise
He didn't have none of those
Simple joys

His life seemed purposeless
And flat
Aren't you glad you don't feel
Like that?

So he ran from all the deeds he'd done
He ran from things he'd just begun
He ran from himself
Which is mighty far to run

Out into the country
Where he'd played as a boy
He knew he had the find him some
Simple joys

He wanted someplace warm
And green
We all could use a change
Of scene

Sweet summer evenings
So full of sound
Gaining a lover
Gaining a pound

Simple joys have a simple voice
That says, "Take a look around"
And wouldn't you, rather be a left-handed flea
A crab on a slab, at the bottom of the sea

A newt on the root, of a banyan tree
Than a man who never learns
How to be free
Not 'til he's underground

Sweet summer evenings, sapphire skies
Feasting your belly
You're feasting your eyes

Simple joys have a simple voice
That says, "Time is a livings prize"
And wouldn't you, rather be a left-handed flea
A crab on a slab, at the bottom of the sea

A newt on the root, of a banyan tree
A fig on a twig in Galilee
Than a men who never learns
How to be free
Not 'til the day he

Not 'til the day he
Not 'til the day
Not 'til the day
He dies