Prancing merrily in a prairie with encircling parakeets

Squatting over the cool grass as the morning’s dew moistens your ass

Shitting out some kind of gold sludge that you can sell for like a million bucks

Mood ever so gay, it’s as if you’re deliberately dissing Dismay

Enchanted – the date was romantic, fantastic, not even lombasted by Brain Voice’s pedantic concern for semantics 

The day has been won, you lucky son – 

Or daughter of a dad called Gun 😉