King Dottie and his gnarly twig

King Dottie and his gnarly twig

They say that crown is really a wig

They say his kingdom is really weak

But to be fair he’s only done it for a week

King Dottie and his dirty clothes

They say the dots are flies in loads

They say his eyes are really warts

And that he only command through his farts

 

King Dottie and his seal clad castle

(building that fortress was really a hassle!)

Goblin King, Saviour, he’s all they got

Vanquisher, Invader - but always old Dot

 

 

Lair of the Bear that doesn't care

The lair of the bear that doesn't care

it can be everywhere

because when it hibernates

it transform, its body infiltrates

nature, like a balloon it inflates

< dungeon dressing, hallways, locked gates >

< mimic's blessing, old ways, ungrates >

The bear becomes the lair

but it doesn't care, 'cause it knows

between its snoring growls,

dreams of me and you and daring do's

and foes -

nine beats per minute

 nine beats per minute

  nine beats per minute

   nine beats per minute

    nine beats per minute

   nine beats per minute

  nine beats per minute

 nine beats per minute

nine beats per minute

Bells of spring ring, a recurring familiar thing

visitor begone, system collapse, song of crushing throng

blink and shrink and shrink and blink

visitor begone, take the money and run

the lair of the bear that doesn't care

resume, time to consume -

a beautiful day in June

The lair of the bear that doesn't care

it can be everywhere

 

Ten tall pyramids

In the static sea
Ten tall pyramids
Sung to me

Marbled mannequin
Marbled mannequin

In the static sea
Ten tall pyramids
Sung to me

The Mourner

At the corner of Bix and Forner
there's a lady, a mourner
The eyes go on no detour
they know why they're there for
and the tears fall without fear
to the ground, a sound wet as beer
But the feelings don't adhere
the guineas they steer
and come tomorrow, there's a sorrow
completely new, the lady's said her adieu
to whoever they buried
(a lone sod, never married)
and her tears, already on the next ferry
paid by the bastard who slayed
(the irony, oh you don't say)
But that's the life of a mourner
laughed the lady at Bix and Forner

On the distant island of Alphabet

On the distant island of Alphabet
crazy creations in motion are set.
The librarian warlock, tired of reading,
tore his books apart (without any grieving)
and threw them in the magic sea
(they are quite common there, you see).


But as he stood there on the shore,
face red, yelling: "WADDA NEED EM FOR?"
the dissolved paragraphs of sunken pages
touched the crazed geniuses of drowned mages.
"Neat!" one of the Water Magi said,
"let's bring life to that which always been dead!"


So now, on the distant island of Alphabet
twenty-six beasts crawls out of the wet.
Apex, ascender, serif, ear and tie.
All different, both in shape and cry,
but together they roam as a flock
proud children of the librarian warlock