Nearly a quarter of a century in,
Clogged by the swaddling model of man,
The vain hierarchy of malarchy and gin.
Oh, Seniorita your love is queen,
The land is grand and the rule is mean,
But the reign is dated on a grave where the robbin will sing.
In her own special way,
And with her old fashined grace,
She's a new batch of lady,
With a doe-bashful face.
In steps the in debt natural boy,
Joined by loins to a Helen of Troy,
She jacks his will and fills the void.
In her own special way,
And with her old fashioned grace,
She's a new batch of lady,
With a doe-bashful face.
I am lashed to the chasm,
Like a goat to a tree,
I'm exposed by the ghosts,
I have seen.
Nearly a quarter of a century past,
Fooling by the dueling, ruling class,
My heart is open to your potion at last.
So let fall the warbling wailings of pain,
On the all night disco bingo game,
A quarter of a century lost or gained.