|
See him digging, see him weeding |
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Every single day of the year |
|
Coffee at eleven, four-thirty tea |
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His security is built on routine |
|
But inside his mind there's a lot going on |
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Planning the world but it just don't do no good |
|
I say, what's the use? |
|
Population, starvation |
|
His mind keeps working hard |
|
Ending wars, changing laws |
|
But all of them locked away |
|
I say, what's the use? |
|
Population, starvation |
|
His mind keeps working hard |
|
Ending wars, changing laws |
|
But all of them locked away |
|
In cessation, repetition |
|
Funeral for an age of decay |
|
Meditation, deep frustration |
|
Caused our hairy friend to die |
|
Here lies a man who failed to escape |
|
Filled his small head with the worries that plague the world |
|
I say, what's the use? |
