There is torpor in my attitude and torpor in my gait
Why o why should I then care if get a wee bit late?
The monkey business in the latitudes is a matter you’d consign to fate
But no o no, I would dis-concur, it is but a trait innate.
Semblances appear, phantasms grow, images do inundate
And yes o yes, I dare proclaim, these are but truths incarnate.
Dreamers to the left, dreamers to the right, aimless at any rate
Gee o gee, I wonder out loud, why all are gathered at my gate?