Who's watching the cars from the corner of cul-de-sacs,
Who's charging the lawns like an order to grow long,
Vain in my bare window I am,
Aiming my telescope I am,
I've been riding on my high-horse and I do wait,
All sullen and sodden above it all about a mile,
I will post up still on this pedestal that I built,
And I build my anthills
And the cities glow that are built with an enviable skill
Guess we're born out of gore
But I'm blessed with impermeable pores,
What a show my noble chromosomes inordered rows
And I suffer fools like you,
And I suffer fools all my life,
And I will blow my hot air,
Pulling ants from my hair in my armchair

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