The painted faces congregate. In the mating season. The second hopes. They go alone. In no rush to reason. And there's a fountain. And a scimitar. Shaped yellow light. That picks you up. And cuts you down to size. The people there. And the furniture. Start to seem important. And a whole lot more. You catch the floor. With a vivid and absorbant sharpened arc. Like the scimitar. Shaped yellow light. That picks you up. And cuts you down to size. I had questions for the tap dancer. Sat on my lap. And she had child proof caps on her answers. Stolen blower blow me a scone. And show me that handsome enhancer. She had a rock on her throttle. And a brown glass bottle full of. Shavings from the sun. Although those shoes affect your step. Don't forget whose legs you're on. There's a fountain and a scimitar. Shaped yellow light. And it picks you up. And it cuts you down to size