WORM-FARM BLUES

                              

It’s a no-good life livin’ in this worm-farm—

It’s no life a worm would choose.

We’re writhin’ around, tangled and mangled

Topsied and turvied and confused. 

There’s too darn many in this worm-farm

We’ve all got the worm-farm blues.

We loop to and fro 

with nowhere to go

singin’ the worm-farm blues:

 

Chorus:              

We’ve a dream in our head

Of a vegetable bed.

We know it’s not far away.

With room to roam

And plenty of loam.

But we’ll never see that day.

Oh Blues! It’s blues all the way! 

There’s nowhere to go in this chock-a-block worm-farm—

No place where we can snooze.

We twist and we twine, huddled and muddled,

contorted and thwarted and abused.

And all of us here in this worm-farm

are sufferin’ the worm-farm blues.

We’re just ravellin’

Can’t do travellin’

We just sing the worm-farm blues.

 

Is there anybody there listenin’ to this worm-farm?

Anyone to hear our views?

We tumble in a jumble, pulsing and convulsing.

We’re rumpled and crumpled and bruised.

We‘re goin’ on strike in this worm-farm:

There’ll be no more worm-farm poos!

We hate this scramblin’

We wanna be ramblin’

away from the worm-farm blues.

©  Kate O’Neil