Many a hand has scaled the grand old face of the plateau
 Some belong to strangers and some to folks you know
 Holy ghosts and talk show hosts are planted in the sand
 To beautify the foothills and shake the many hands
 There's nothing on the top but a bucket and a mop
 And an illustrated book about birds
 You see a lot up there but don't be scared
 Who needs action when you got words
 When you've finished with the mop then you can stop
 And look at what you've done
 The plateau's clean, no dirt to be seen
 And the work it took was fun
 Well the many hands began to scan around for the next plateau
 Some said it was in Greenland and some in Mexico
 Some decided it was nowhere except for where they stood
 But they were all just guesses, wouldn't help you if they could