It's well known
On the traders sight you see
And the mixing of the Spirit
In a mixed up menagerie
And your picking of the stones
In which you like to collect
But in your mix is also seed
That rots from cause neglect
When you play for pandemonium
It's not panacea you erect
It's your journey soul
And not the destination in which your bound
It's your choice to free the children from neglect
And that destinations choice is sound
From the choice of thoughts that you reflect
Upon the seeds you see fit to grow
So tighten up your hat there Cap
And remember the panorama
Of the Universal show
Unless your just pantomiming Areosmith
And I know your not you know
Watch the panchromatic colored blow