A chicken ate a rooster
A salmon bit a man
It’s all become as strange
As a giant in japan

From a lettuce-wrapped impala
To a gold-fish made of bread
There’s riddles to be opened
Like a mummy when she’s dead

Democracy’s for children
Theocracy for goats
Balloon’s aren’t made of spinach
And seas don’t wave for boats

The moral of this story
If moral there shall be
Is don’t expect salvation
From the bottom of a flea

Kj21june0