A mustard seed is (has been said)   All that men will need   A filthy boy in a bowery lane   Under the times in a drowning rain   Stealing bits of sleep again   Has heard this comon creed      Grows into the tallest tree   To cool down the sinner's heat   I know this man, he's much like I   A doubter's cusp, a braggart's pyre   Sweltering in brandy-mire   And selling bitter meat      Exemplary of faith I guess   Starts with naught but soil   Upon the shoes of wayward men   Ministers will not befriend   Smite the temple yet again   Spill their precious oil      I've thrown my seed out the window   Down in the dirt below   I'll water it with my distrust   My blatant well-worn rough-hewn crust   I'll mojo it with voodoo dust   And pray that it will grow