through indecision leftovers The into in hard on the precipice
of indecision shall I not be had by the lowly Moose of Failure.
Oh, let us seek refuge in Antigua Where no one will laugh at my big
gut Because I think we're in a snare.
DON'T PRESS THAT but............ Fly to the moon and whatever's there
eat the cheese in a rut that echoed with sadness through the bars
And never able to establish a blame