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Do you know what this is son? This is the panopticon And all around us blink the brash And shifty eyes of common cash So do we die or do we travel? Down the path by which one dabbles In the arts of antediluvian crafts With yarn and glue So gather twilight to your breast And couch the rabble-rouser's nest And we will take a day of rest And we will all be heaven-blessed And we will gather round to dine And pass the time with wicked rhymes And toast in dandelion wines To hear their mellifluous chimes We toast the fallow furrows that we sow, We toast the monies that we owe, oh, oh We toast the creditors we daily face Who topple down with gruesome grace And we toast the aristocrats with blood of blue Because we know our collars are that colour too And we toast the artisans of antediluvian crafts With yarn and glue We do, we do!
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