don’t you cry my little child
they may all have American pies
we still have the sun and moon
while worms play pinochle on their snouts
run off to play my little heart
the classy may hid rocks in mud balls
we still have trees and secret gardens
while blundering pilots scare their pants off
have a very fine day my beloved bumpkin
a tie is no evidence of soul sings River
we still have salt and feel the seasons
while they eat plastic with a side of oil.
Pablo Padres Peter Pan Prescription:
Pay The Piper.