The hidden secrets
- that you may not ever know
- are held by royals.

His season o' sorrows had seceded;
- the joy crept in reluctant an' slow, though,
- because he was aware the cycle'll be repeated.
Yay- t'was one thing that he did, certainly, know:
- that - with the blustery an' bone chilling snow
- will be brought along another season o' sorrow.
For now, though, he'll enjoy the golden suns glow.

White drifts melt- forming shallow, surging creeks:
- thus- bright colours o' green'll arrive within weeks
- an' each o' our spirits will, surely, be enlightened.
Yay - thee shades o' spring are, ever, so vibrant;
- an' we, each, will find shining smiles upon our faces!
T'wards the blue skies, we'll sing our joyful praises:
- songs o' appreciation to the great Mother Earth.
We'll sing along with the soaring, high up, birds.
Yay; it'll, certainly, inspire all o' our joyful words
- an' the streams'll gleam, bright, in the suns rays  
- whilst thee children, carelessly - in the garden, play.

The orange leaves o' last fall begin to emerge
- as the white drifts deteriorate to form surg-
-ing streams that tear through the low prairie
- an', suddenly, human kind seems more merry
- than they were in the recent months an' weeks;
- yay - a joyful smile crosses humanity's cheeks!
It must've something to do with the changing season;
- tis' the only reason - that I can comprehend.

T'is a world full o' entrapment
- should you loathe the establishment;
- be weary with your communications
- for there may be implications
- when they spy on you and I.
Nay- nothing escapes their eyes!
They'll monitor each our calls;
- no matter, just, how small
- o' a talk it might, very well, be.
Yay- they do spy on me and thee!
Nay- nothing escapes their eyes
- but, even still, we must try, our best, to devise
- a quiet, fool proof strategy to see humanity rise.
For - if we fail : a free human kind will surely die.

It seems, as though, we live in a time so grim
- an' I believe the world'll need a few more spins
- 'round the sun before it'll, ever again, be fun
- for our daughters & sons ta', in the garden, run.
Once the war's done - an' lowered've been the guns:
- maybe then, we'll see the tiny crumbs of buns
- that the mothers had baked for the boys who'd won.
But - the men at war with their heads felt none,
- in terms of peace, an'-  nor did their sons;
- they are the children of a massive war
- an' don't understand what all o' the death was for.

I was headed on down to Chadron, Nebraska;
- for: I, dearly, needed some time away
- an' I was craving a bit o' Americana,
- so - I hit each Waffle House on the way.

As I passed through the mountains in Deadwood:
- I, seemingly, understood that manhood
- was still a couple thousand miles away
- so I threw my smoldering cigarette in the ashtray
- an' pulled into the next little, roadside cafe.

Should I never make it to Nebraska:
- look through those trees in South Dakota.
I'm certain that your eyes'll spot me;
- out on those Black Hills, in the Elm
- laced mountain tops, : tis' where I'll be
- likely.