song for a halfwit

i sing to thee, o muddled one
i sing to thee of a month of seven thursdays
i sing to thee of a horse in high heels
(awkwardly) dancing the bossa nova
and i say that's a no good boss

i sing to thee of puppy dogs and celery
i sing to thee of thy father's celery
i sing to thee of more celery, with peanut butter
i sing to thee of the aforementioned etc. etc. but with raisins too
its called ants on a log, you big dummy

i sing to thee of a thousand forgotten yesterdays
but i will not sing to thee one song for tomorrow
nor will i sing to thee any song for the day after tomorrow
but after that look me up and maybe we can talk
when the plums are plumbing and the geese are goosing
in the azure light of the setting sun
at the beginning of the end of another day of time

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