I was wielding my axe    drunk whisky at the bar    every night coming home    out the windshield of my car   I would look through the boughs   and think I saw my lucky star.   I was spreading my sheets   took dinner all alone   every night of the week   awaiting by the phone.   I would dab off my tears   with my favorite pine cone.   Needle prick my spruce root.   Dear little hemlock shoot,   Make me stay sharp,   and keen and evergreen.   I would tend to my bees    sell honey on the road    every fall in the wet   watching lorries take their load   And I'd get all my winnings    ask for special sap in code   In August three weeks    I'm back in village where I clip   all sorts of brambles and thorns    From up the hill I pip   In a little clay cup    the stuff I cross myself and sip.   Needle prick my spruce root   Dear little hemlock shoot   Make me stay sharp    and keen, evergreen.   I was casting my line   angling way the day.    The stream was swift, it was clear,   But the light was getting gray.   I bent down by the thistle   and thought of what it was I'd say.   Needle prick my spruce root   Dear little hemlock shoot   Make me stay sharp   And keen, evergreen.