| Though by the path I lead
|
| The passing of time and the pouring of tea
|
| Are all I’ve lately seen
|
| Until our temporal bridge be burned
|
| Until our anchor stocks hold firm
|
| Where the hands of clocks don’t turn
|
| O my soul
|
| May our lips remain discreet
|
| While your traps are beneath our feet--
|
| But how long before our tails are caught
|
| By our «free» thought?
|
| Sugar in the cane, candles low
|
| Kettle on the flame for the teapot? |
| No
|
| Sugar in the cane, candles low
|
| On the Streets of Mexican Wars
|
| I battle with the memory of a first fight
|
| In our contemptible youth
|
| I quoted
|
| White Nights
|
| Thinking that’d get rid of you
|
| And waited with a stone in my hand
|
| But you were right
|
| That nature had another plan
|
| Nature had another plan |