Now this is what
we are going to do
I am going to hold
Your hand and
We shall take a walk.

Over and past Jupiter and Rome,
over and past the Old Horse at home,
past the green guitar with moss all over
And naturally but of course! the chimerical cliffs of Dover.

Now this is what
We are going to see
to see, to see and not to hear:
Old men kissing pictures of grey&black crinkled photographs
of women they barely knew, and
little children staring up at the sweet counter begging for
just one more yellow Bon Bon, awoorrr go’on just one more yellow Bon Bon
man at the counter with grey balding hair.

But I’m gonna bet you didn’t see the fairy ghost
bowing to sink through the gutter bars
under the lame horse’s arthritic hooves,
And I’ll make a bet that you didn’t see ‘em - those dogs with the caramel pink hair
And I’m going to bet that you didn’t see him,
the donkey that smokes marijuana
whilst chatting to Donald the hare.

Now this is what
We are going to do
I am going to hold
Your hand and
We shall take a walk.

Down past a place called Reality
And down to the depths of the lagoon.
Down past a place where Sleeping Beauty still sleeps
where the farting dwarfs sing their bawdy-laudy songs of erotica
to the nymphs who dance on the moon.

Now this is what we are going to do
as we turn and say goodbye to The Plot
and drifts away to become a cloud.

Now I hope now that all this has happened
I can reach out and hold your hand
And now I hope that all this has happened
We can turn and go for our walk.