At first, the Lord looked for a job in Italy.
Finding none, he took up the barony of Saturday
Where notes were made on the nature of nature
and paralyzed monkeys stared at balloons.
(oh, the secrets that we carry.)
Now we come to part
with scary standers; our excuses, their excesses
stretch the limit of Authority.
Soon enough the evening country
will be leaving silence, dirty, cold and scheming.
Is this something only I am dreaming?