Land of the Glass Pinecones

Land of the glass pinecones
They only grow for the full moon
The farmers never gather them
The magic cones are heaven-sent
Land of the glass pinecones
Their seeds are made of rhinestones
The squirrels never scatter them
They know what rhinestone seeds portend
Land of the glass pinecones
They smash on the grass when the wind blows
The splinters fly throughout the land
And pierce the eye of every man
Land of the glass pinecones
The eye now sees what the tree knows
The splinters burn, but then we learn
That when we spend we have to bend
Its all a part of nature’s plan
All a part of nature’s plan
Land of the glass pinecones