Shed

Every man should have a shed
In which to hide and nurse his head
For when the world turns in on him
And everything is looking grim
He can sit there in his chair
Breathing in sweet garden air
 
Bailiffs may pound upon his door
His wife and he may be at war
But in his shed he feels at ease
There’s nothing there that will displease
It’s filled with things he’ll one day fix
Like fishing rods and walking sticks
 
He’s safe ensconced avoiding stress
And even though it looks a mess
It’s his world and his alone
Far away from telephone
Among the plant pots he’s at peace
All his troubles fade and cease
 
So if you suffer from overload
Have a boss who likes to goad
Or the kids forever wanting money
Go where life feel light and sunny
Read a book, have a quiet smoke  
Once more be a contented bloke
 
It should be part of god’s great plan
To provide a shed for everyman
Then peace would reign and end all war
All men happy as ne’re before
So please don’t bury me when I’m dead
Just prop me in my garden shed!