She lived all alone in a big brick home Filled with Italian renaissance art She stuffed every room like some overgrown balloon Because she couldn’t stand to keep it in her heart.
Just a young girl from Tazewell, Virginia She married a rich man from Italy ‘Cept that he died before her, so she just grew shorter Without benefit of company
(chorus) And the moon just kept getting older And the tide moves in ways she couldn’t see But Docia Renneiro tends to her garden And she never fights with the weeds.
Sometimes we’d help her, me and John McWhorter In her garden until about three And Docia Renneiro always had lots of cookies And always had on a pot of tea.
Now, we’d be down there struggling in our youthful garden glory She’d be looking down from the kitchen with a grin ‘cause we had no way of knowing no matter how hard we pulled the weeds would always come in.
When she died her family came after all of the Italian art They stripped the walls bare ‘til not a nail was left there And then they began to depart
Now her home’s all condos and the garden’s a parking lot But every now and again When I go back I sneak a peak through the cracks Just to see how many weeds have come in.