Mama!  I’m hooooome!

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Oh Denky boy, the goats, the goats are calling
From poisoned well, and down the slag-pit side
The Ceausescus are gone, and all the beetroots dying
‘Tis you, ’tis you must go, my lovely mail-ordered bride.

But come ye back when th’ goatherd’s in the meadow
Or when the valley’s flushed with car-o-bolic snow

‘Tis I’ll be here in radiated fallllll-ouuuut
Oh Denky boy, oh Denky boy, I love you so.

And if you come, when all the beetroot’s dying
And I am broke, as broke I well may be
You’ll come and find the space where I am hiding….
And kneel and close the manhole cov’r on me.

And I shall hear, tho’ soft you tread above me
And all my Magnum re-runs will warm and sweeter be
If you’ll not hail the great Bernaaaaank-keee
I’ll simply slip the noose ’round nearest tree…..

I’ll simply slip the noose ’round nearest treeeeeee
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Remember the cycles, and the patterns. One can hear the goats bleating from here…

No changes today, save additional patience.  Best to you all.

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