From A Voice Plantation

I, who no longer can listen
I saw a gusty wind
Come up to listen
Before I was ten
And all of the evil grids
From a hill where rats consider, oh
And they gang, and they topple
And they send a smoke ring
Into the onion field
A ghost!
And this can make you choke
Coming from the throat of a ghost!
And sent to my weak knees from a voice plantation
All in together, in terror