Antiquated illusionist, frail as he may be, weaves spells, creates enigmas
for the populace to see
In his own little world of nihilism only he exist
The solo axiom, in a sea of drowning fish
Paroxysm comes in intervals, sometimes four, five times a day
not pain, not rage, nor convulsion but laughter leads the way
Excuse me my good man he shouts, would you care to drink with me?
And I wouldn't call that strange at all, if he weren't talking to a tree
you too my friends you'll come along for the party, he loudly said
The little dogs just gave a bark, and cocked their puzzled heads
He marched into the bar as if he were leading a parade
the look in his eyes screamed all the while..
this man's in need of shade
But what a time they had that day, they drank till there was no more
Till the little dogs and he alike lay passed out on the floor
Then a tap on the shoulder, an "excuse me sir,"                                       and a "call for you line three"
Sitting up in his chair he thought to himself "what a crazy dream"
While on the phone he glanced around and something caught his eye
When he realized what it was he saw, he thought he'd surely die
Two small dogs lie in the corner, beneath a small, green tree
And with a straining glance he noticed
An empty shot glass beside all three ;-)