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