Burning Books

There ain’t no tigers
Paddin' through the jungle-land
No more congo roam okapi
Racin' 'cross the bongo sand
No more monkeys
Swinging through the monkey-puzzle tree
No more West Indian
Manatee
In the land of milk and honey
I’m living quiet as a mouse
They forgot to hang outside my house
They’re keeping camera shutters shuttered
Now they’ve got me good and guttered
No-one claps as my stuffed shirt
It flutters by
No more rhino
Scarin' up that big-game guy
No more bald eagle
Screamin' 'cross the boundless sky
No more funny
Just dumb monkeyshines for layabouts
Too many mixie bunnies
And all the yawning is a silent shout
In the land of milk and honey
From lemons we make lemonade
From the rain we make a parade
No shutter-buggers madly snapping
Or going to catch me napping
Or striding, lean and ripped and rippling from the surf
Every wedding reception
Looks just like a wake
The drunken rug in the RSL
Still sticks to your feet, for goodness sake
Committees, committees
Mr. Mayor at the mall
Seen one sunset, surf film, fireworks, market
You’ve seen 'em all
But in the land of milk and honey
Of vanities and lies
Our beautiful infected skies
The little piggies gonna snitch on one another
And you know without a twitch they’d sell their mother
The very thing that makes you rich
Will make poor