In every garden In every row and aisle There always seems to be too many weeds Throughout the fields All rampant, random, and wild There always seems to be too many weeds ♪ I never thought much of the garden Until the things I loved were choked I never thought much of the field Until the nightshade cut my legs I'd hesitate and second guess my way ♪ In my garden I know what I like and I like what I grow And I'll pull out all the cull and leave the things I desire And in the field where everything grows And the mower never mows I'll stomp on what I want to And cherish the things I desire ♪ I built a wall around my garden When people started telling me what to grow It's cold and callous and casts a heavy shadow Over the fields I choose to call my own I hate the wall and its selfish display My garden becoming sterile in it's pretentiousness My direction lost in shallow righteousness Suffocating the bloom... and every blossom