A day has come; a day has gone,
Another such day of a frivolous strum,
Asleep by day, engaged at night;
Some disturbing images betroth my sight:

Frightening visions of some unknown form collide with my
thoughts at some off world shore;
There I see midgets climbing out a hollow bore, debating,
commiserating; maybe just oscillating, chanting such
thoughts, "Is it good? Is it bad?" whilst the queen sits on
a golden toilet slab,
Gloating with glee at those little wee men;
there she sits, there she weeps, faking a sorrow that so
many may see, might be her forthcoming into misery; oh those
little wee men, climbing and climbing and the hollow started
watering an affect that came from those angry clouds
gathering;

There the queen sat on her golden toilet slab,
Sat and sneered as the hollow flooded out.