Teardrops in the gravy
and kneaded into the biscuit dough
Dew on the sunflower seeds
and the strawberry rows

Bitters we chew with spices ground
from morning up with covers down
Hand the plates all around
and swallow every ounce

For sadness has sweetness become
and our dour is the new sour
Salt that stings lays on the tongue
as we savor every painful hour

Once we craved a joyous and simple juice
but now our sugar rum goes to waste
For in our hurry to know the truth
we developed a worn out taste