Do you know what this is son?

This is the panopticon

And all around us blink the brash

And shifty eyes of common cash


So do we die or do we travel?

Down the path by which one dabbles

In the arts of antediluvian crafts

With yarn and glue


So gather twilight to your breast

And couch the rabble-rouser's nest

And we will take a day of rest

And we will all be heaven-blessed


And we will gather round to dine

And pass the time with wicked rhymes

And toast in dandelion wines

To hear their mellifluous chimes


We toast the fallow furrows that we sow,

We toast the monies that we owe, oh, oh

We toast the creditors we daily face

Who topple down with gruesome grace


And we toast the aristocrats with blood of blue

Because we know our collars are that colour too

And we toast the artisans of antediluvian crafts

With yarn and glue


We do, we do!