I was a precious little garden, tender in his eyes,
my Keeper like a warrior worked in me day and night,
my ridges were well made, my furrows watered daily,
I was always green and desirable, confident in drought,
the precious little garden everyone talked about.

I was planted with the of the best seeds, seeds abundant,
my seeds where more precious than silver, costly as gold,
my manure was lasting and good, no weed was found in me,
there was light in the penthouse, lamps shining day and night,
the precious little garden everyone wanted.

I was my Keeper's delight and hope, outstanding in his sight, 
I was the reason why He came, I was the reason He was laughed at,
He worked at me without complains, He bore me when all was lost,
He tilled my hard soil, had broken blisters, blood dripping as He toiled,
the precious little garden paid for with blood.

The harvest time is here, my Keeper nowhere to be found,
the penthouse is dark for the oil has run dry, the winepress broken,
for I have produced thorns and brier instead of olive and pomegranate,
He planted the best seeds, and has gotten only leaves of sorrow,
the precious little garden yielding only pains.

It is not my Keeper that was deceived, for He is meek and lowly,
it is me oh sons of men that have broken his heart and crushed his soul,
for I let the caterpillars in on me and drove the butterflies away,
the worms called and I did answer against the command of my Keeper,
the precious little garden naughty at heart.

Don't weep for me or my Keeper though my wall is broken,
rejoice not oh daughters of men as the foxes scatter my remains,
I am trampled upon, day and night and I have lost my bliss and ointment,
life makes no sense now, yet my Redeemer and Keeper is compassionate,
the broken wall garden, that's all I am.