A Bumper Crop of Zen (Radio Country-Pop Mix)

[Verse 1]
Had a day that went sideways before the sun got high
Boss was barking, coffee spilled, couldn’t catch the sky
Traffic like a gravel pit, dust in my lungs again
Thought I lost my last scrap of that bumper crop of Zen

[Verse 2]
Paperwork avalanched right off my old grey desk
Emails buzzing like mosquitoes, bureaucratic pests
Clock crawled like a broke haybine, minutes wouldn’t end
I was far from inner peace and outer grease, my friend

[Chorus]
But I came home, kicked off my boots out back
Let the river do the talking, let it cover all the slack
Pulled the Massey from the shed, John Deere in low at ten
I zen gardened with the Massey and the Deere again
Making tractor tracks in chaos till it all felt right
A bumper crop of Zen in the fading light

[Verse 3]
Yard looked like a scrapyard dream, parts in every row
Old machinery and memories where the wild weeds grow
Grief parked in the gravel, ghost of days back then
I found stillness in a stuck PTO again

[Verse 4]
Ruts like worries in my mind, deep and running long
So I traced them with the loader till they didn’t feel so strong
Diesel hum for heartbeats, gear grind counting ten
Blue-collar meditation in the northern pines again

[Chorus]
Yeah I came home, kicked off my boots out back
Let the river do the talking, let it cover all the slack
Pulled the Massey from the shed, John Deere in low at ten
I zen gardened with the Massey and the Deere again
Making tractor tracks in chaos till it all felt right
A bumper crop of Zen in the fading light

[Bridge]
Every pass I make across that muddy field of doubt
Lines of grief and gravel slowly start to smooth right out
If the world turns to paperwork, I’ll just count to ten
Drag a harrow through my heart for a bumper crop of Zen

[Chorus]
So I come home, kick off my boots out back
Let the river do the talking, let it cover all the slack
Pulled the Massey from the shed, John Deere in low at ten
I zen gardened with the Massey and the Deere again
Finding inner peace and outer grease, my friend
A bumper crop of Zen at the long day’s end

[Outro]
Yeah, the day falls to pieces like old bolts in a pan
But I garden with the tractors like a quiet, laughing man
In this northern Ontario twilight now and then
I grow a bumper crop of Zen, a bumper crop of Zen