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

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