Starting now she stares

At pictures of the golden pucker-lipped doggie

Fermenting in the open Juneish air

In the temple of a thousand cabooses

Who says Yazbak can't play funky?

Syrely they've had practise in Egypt

With dusty books on shelves made of rye

And Apollo in his fire engine

Seventy dollars worth of salt

Is enough to keep all of my meat from spoiling

In the long hot summer that is

Known as May through September

Spirit of the Dance I envoke thee

Spirit of Tourniquettes Spirit of greasemonkeys

I know it's a little late

But can I have a remote control car for Christmas

Yultide

The End