They tell us to see the sun in the winter
get your gun to get your dinner
there's only one who can be winner
so have fun as a sinner.

A ******* bullpit
echoes the bully pulpit
cracking a bullwhip
as a cruel gift.

There's a royal decree
in the soil we seed
wearing oily greaves
we boil and bleed.

The pinniped's frigid bed
dwindled when the cynic said
his withered glen is more important than
the arctic shed and hearts that bled.

The highlands seem endearing
when islands are disappearing
and the godmen are hearing
no reasons to be weary.

Some run to the hills
some run to the pills
others turn to the thrill
of the blood we spill.

Our only answer is running
from our controller's cunning
it's almost like they're hunting
by not solving this one thing.