Git On A Bough

I am a grandee

I have a long beard

And I wear a big hat made of fur

I sit in a tree

And things become weird

When the cogs in my brain start to whirr

Birds fall from the sky

Lakes boil to steam

Hens and chickens come home to roost

Oh do not ask why

It is not a dream

But the tethers of sense are unloos’d

The tree is a pine

I perch on a bough

My grandeur will dazzle your sight

“O give us a sign!

And give it us now!”

You caterwaul with all your might

But I just sit

And gesticulate

And summon up thunder and storm

‘Cos I am a git

Deciding your fate

You’ll wish you had never been born

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