slip knot hot shot
dobee do do
i croon in a whisper
with a voice cut from
the b squad
on the bad singer's team
wishing well
for the princess of little kiddies
floating my hands
in graphic imagery
over your goosebump
field of plenty
like a nude bike race at mt. snow
believing, more or less
in the school of dance
with flame retardent leotards
of josie and the hello pussy cats
sometimes it's like no dice
in a game of chance
and chance be a lady tonight
and tonight
the holiday of consequence