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 common 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