Where all things were out of bounds,
There resided a king of clowns,
He sang and danced and leaped in mirth,
He moved along the lines of hate.

Where all things were out of bounds,
There resided a king of clowns.

The pranks of hate and love resolved,
The pawns and workers were there to ride,
The canvas of winged and fried consciousness,
A deference to capabilities, to ignore.

But there's a little place,
where Beulah sleeps,
Dances and leaps in Sunshine and rain,
Pure as a concept and whole as a grain,
There are such things but without a strain.

Where all things were out of sight,
There resided a mode of fright.
They sang and danced and gorged with pride,
There resided a frame-less light.

But there's a little place,
where desires are kept,
Prances and plunges in a Pinkish Paradise,
Pure as a conceit and whole as a root,
These are all things that the king had to loot.

But The pawns and workers were there to ride,
The canvas of winged and fried delight,
A deference to a foundation, to demystify,
Where all things were alibis?

Of Mice and Men and an out of bounds,
There resided a king of clowns,
The pawns and workers were there to ride,
The mode of fright from out of sight!