Spring is here, and what shall we say,

Disconnect from this heated day,

It’s coming, spring, and the next thing,

And a poet was, fumbling for words,

Maybe work, whatever that could mean,

A lot, granted for, saladine, salad who,

Snake dancer, here I come, here I go,

To whoever comes to my show,

And there I’ll drop,

And there I’ll sing,

Something something,

Spring is beginning,

Or here,

Maybe something queer,

Maybe a second exit,

An explanation,

Of fires that have been spreading,

Infecting, with that love sick story,

Of religion and love,

And something told me,

A dove would come from above,

Of which we’d feast,

Of which we’d consume,

And pretend that we’re pure,

Or poor, or capitalism man,

Or this guy feels like telling a joke,

And the height would never let you in,

So assume we’re just a white hare,

And in we go, and out we come,

For when the song, humm,

Something dreadful,

Something new,

Something came to you,

Said I’m dying,

Of thirst,

I’m dying,

The world is crying,

But the heat,

Had just begun,

Dumb, dun dun,

Sweet honey buns.