Buttercup monk in floral dress
Glides to my abode
Graces my feasting table
To enjoy the simple fruits
He speaks in hazy days of concentration
of the old society, stretched, pushed to the limits
What will become of us
Will things go in reverse
Backs arched, hairy all over
Picking all the berries off the bush
I do not know, for I am not as wise as Dennis
or as smart as Lisa
All I know is:
Eggs float when they're off
We're not that bad
All I know is:
Eggs float when they're off
We're not that bad