调：C major
Verse 1
C
G
Ab
A gardener has his season,
D
G
Ebdim
G
why does your garden grow?
A
F
Fm
So if you taste my flowers,
G
C
A
you'll see that I'm among
Ab
G
C
E
that lucky troupe for whom
A
D
Faug
A
To take a licorice stick and make a tree
F#
Bm
Dm
Yes, there's no rhyme or reason
B
E
Dm
is natural to me
E
C#m
C#dim
I was born
F#
Bm
Dm
You see, I've been se lected
A
B
Ebdim
Dm
G
morn
D
Ddim
C
And turned it on its head
Am
G
Baug
It isn't right or wrong, it's what he felt
C
Dm
F
And Dar ley, even more so,
Ab
C
Am
would positively dread
G
C
D
And me, I take sweet honey
Ddim
Fm
C
and make a tasteful rose
D
G
Edim
What can I say, it's simply what I do
A
F
Fm
Some men make pots of money,
Ddim
C
A
they're happy I suppose
Dm
Ddim
G
C
E
But be grateful that for just a lucky few
D
Bbaug
Bm
A
The mind is such a wonder to ex plore
F#
Bm
Dm
And though some nights I dread
E
B
Bm
I'd rather be this way than be a bore
Abdim
Cm
F
Bb
It's simply second nature
Eb
F
Ddim
and try to sculpt each day
G
Cm
Eb
It's no blessing, it's a curse
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