Hustle, fustle.

Push shove bustle.

So goes the dance of the milling mass.

Work, rent, mortgage.

Magic shortage.

Why queue for milk from their golden ass.



Open up your Wonder Annual.

Turn on the leaves of your private book.

Open up your Wonder Annual

and, if I may, can I lay and look?

At the gold and the silver

that will fly from your hands.



Hands of Ripper pours paint stripper.

Toasting the worms in their shallow graves

Draw your blinds down.

Sketch an unfrown.

Show me the door through which all are saved.



Open up your Wonder Annual.

Turn on the leaves of your private book.

Open up your Wonder Annual

and, if I may, can I lay and look?

At the shells full of pearl

that will float from your gate.

And if lust equals knowledge

then I side with the snake.



Open up your Wonder Annual.

Turn on the leaves of your private book.

Open up your Wonder Annual

and, if I may, can I lay and look?



Open up your Wonder Annual.

Turn on the leaves of your private book.

Open up your Wonder Annual

and, if I may . . .