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A tale came in a dream A thigh-slapper, mad-hatter, a scream Showing a magical globe Some gypsy dressed in a robe Someone from Aladdin’s lamp Not a backstreet tramp With gestures, winks and bits of stealth Promising pig-trough wealth And stars to turn on his gaze No matter the word or phase The sun would rise, the moon set Never a worry about getting wet Now god in his ear Nothing to fear Statues will rise Don’t forget the pork pies Still more mirrors, promising self Like old china off the shelf Cow resides in his personal globe Dressed in nothing but slippers and robe Eating his words before they make sense Always swinging for the meadow fence Swallowing thoughts still without form Pissing on his favorite lawn Walking back yesterday’s tale The ways he eats uncooked kale Telling his gut to feed his brain Nothing there, a bacterial stain Now up is down and there is where Air thin as a whisper, a shaft of hair Cow curses the man who isn’t there. |
| Mad Cow has his face in the cloud Moving his lips out loud With stars in his eyes Ketchup with fries Mirror captures it all Cow’s fortunate fall Head of the class For his impressive ass Herd upon herd Taking his word Scraping the knee Paying a fee Fuel for the udder Who holds the rudder? For Mad Cow the world is him Not some clown on the outer rim |