Version I:

A butterfly called 'Bijou' flutters down onto
The cracking silver ice that lies fragmented,
Each piece floating segregated, like portly bellied clouds
Shadowing the dancing tadpoles underneath
Whose frolicking and rolicking
Ripples the water above,
Tickling the lilies thrown a second ago
By a baby-boy dressed in black
Who walks away from the building in stone, that seems to moan
At the baby-boy, whose fists pine for an enemy with no name.
So he walks, angry and confused
Not understanding what it means to lose,
Tears start to fall as thunder booms,
Must be the gods he assumes,
Starting to run, not hearing the lilies laughing,
Or the other children who run&skip&scream
Throwing words to one another
Missing as they do, the pregnant mare galloping past
Her gilded mane glistening in the sun,
As she travels to her hay
That lies in stacks in the barn
With the old man, whose tattered arms lie as if scattered,
Their liver brown spots that seem to sparkle when he dreams of El Dorado,
The place where Echo says ‘I want more,'
As Mr. Ebenezer runs panting from treasure trove to trove,
Cursing the Genie who wails sadly
But what for?
What for? What for?
J’adore J’adore mon amour,
What for?

Manifestations of Infestations
Evolve like the worm in the soil
so slow we go, so slowly go
And though we know
About the ebb and the flow,
Still mouths go 'Oh No!'
When the curtain falls and the sun sets.

Relax though my friend, (my pal, my mate),
Somewhere, on another stage
The tadpoles are still swimming,
Mr. Ebenezer is still gloating over his loot,
And Echo continues to call to her objet d'amour,
Calling, Calling, to her objet d'amour
Who lies floating, slightly bloating,
On the pond in the wood of your dreams.

Version II:

A butterfly called 'Bijou' flutters down onto
The cracking silver ice that lies fragmented,
Each piece floating segregated, like portly-bellied clouds
Shadowing the dancing tadpoles underneath
Whose frolicking and rollicking
Ripples the water above,
Tickling the lilies thrown a second ago
By a baby-boy dressed in black
Who walks away from the building in stone, that seems to moan
At the baby-boy, whose fists pine for an enemy with no name.
So he walks, angry and confused
Not understanding what it means to lose,
Tears start to fall as thunder booms,
Must be the gods he assumes,
Starting to run, not hearing the lilies laughing,
Or the other children who run&skip&scream
Throwing words to one another
Missing as they do, the pregnant mare galloping past
Her gilded mane glistening in the sun,
As she travels to her hay
That lies in stacks in the barn
With the old man, whose tattered arms lie as if scattered,
Their liver brown spots that seem to sparkle when he dreams of El Dorado,
The place where Echo says ‘I want more,'
As Mr. Ebenezer runs panting from treasure trove to trove,
Cursing the Genie who wails sadly
But what for?
What for? What for?
J’adore J’adore mon amour,
What for?

But the Genie is stopped by the wails of Ebenezer
Who sputtering and muttering snorts
Hot molten black-blood
That erupts from his emerald-encrusted broken nose,
Spurting as if flirting like a cruel outrageous courtesan,
Who slicing the air,
Devastates, this deranged harpee never stops to hesitate
As she spits acidic bile onto the minions below her
Who, like the tumbleweed
Escaped from the roots that she loves.
And below her, Scrooge sprints hatingly away,
Bellowing agonized skeletal words,
Screeching for Mercy! Mercy! From the heavens as
The court jester, the Fool, floats, flapping his fur-covered coxcomb,
As if the laughter of the lilies is too scared to escape
From his pulverized cracked lips, that protrude like the jutting hips
Of the waist of the girl who sits alone in the building of stone,
Her hands on her lap, tears oozing from her eyes like a flowers sap
Once the stem has been broken, and this girl has not yet spoken,
Since the baby-boy dressed in black, fled, somewhere alone.

Manifestations of Infestations
Evolve like the worm in the soil
so slow we go, so slowly go
And though we know
About the ebb and the flow,
Still mouths go 'Oh No!'
When the curtain falls and the sun sets.

Relax though my friend, (my pal, my mate),
Somewhere, on another stage
The tadpoles are still swimming,
Mr. Ebenezer is still gloating over his loot,
And Echo continues to call to her objet d'amour,
Calling, Calling, to her objet d'amour
Who lies floating, slightly bloating,
On the pond in the wood of your dreams.