Peck

Lyrics

The young men come swinging the heavy canvas sacks
Looking to strip the orchard, looking to break their backs
They want the bragging rights, the glory of the haul
Shaking the main trunk until the green ones fall
I keep my boots on the second rung, keeping my own time.

Give me the ash-wood basket, riding on the hip
I don't need the whole harvest to prove I got a grip
A peck is a promise you make to your own spine
You take what it levels out, and leave the rest behind.

Four yellow pippins and the bottom slats are blind
Then the thud goes quiet, just the skin against the rind
The woven strap bites down, the muscle starts to shift
My hand knows the limit before I even lift
I don't need to eyeball the rim to see we're at the top
The hardest discipline on earth is knowing when to stop.

Give me the ash-wood basket, riding on the hip
I don't need the whole harvest to prove I got a grip
A peck is a promise you make to your own spine
You take what it levels out, and leave the rest behind.

Now we're crowded in the kitchen, the cider's getting poured
The giant-killers groaning, stretched out on the floorboards
There is a danger in a vessel that is built too deep
You fill it with your daylight, you get no night to sleep
You take a peck of trouble, you can walk it into town
You take a mountain of it, and it drags you in the ground.

Give me the ash-wood basket, riding on the hip
I don't need the whole harvest to prove I got a grip
A peck is a promise you make to your own spine
You take what it levels out, and leave the rest behind.

Level it off.
Don't crown the top.
Leave a little for the frost.
I know when to stop.