Oh to be a petunia bush
Or a clump of rose
And if I were a pile of mouldy mush
I would pen my delights in elegant prose
Flowers and grass is the most gay
The less you know the more you gain
Man is only misery
Intensified by his mighty brain
And to the little youth at lifes curtain
Unable to see the malaise that awaits
I can easily say, absolutely certain
Behind that velvet lies hells gates
Everyone desires old age
Turn the page, and get it over with
