Mike, it’s funny, when me turning on a Walgreens girl hurts so bad
To the old grey man in the old grey hat who’s seen it all,
.
His sun’s still shining but his eyes droop down,
Where do we turn when all our innards is what we have left,
.
And oh, this day, this clowning of the sensitive,
The oblong struck by Wednesdays’ circumstances again,
.
To feel that we’ve left them here in the cold to starve,
Time only granted sovereign dewing on the chaste bees.