Don’t trip off a cloud, folks, this ain’t the time yet.
I’m just here to clear things and sort some stuff out.
Lord knows any parent can count up to two
But I don’t have children; I’ve sheep to tend to
And they’re much more conducive to living devout
In their fullness of being, not knowing regret.

But humanity has a weird way with this thing –
This living on earth in alignment with all.
You seem to take truth and then twist it somehow.
If I did have a grave, I’d be twerking by now
To the tune of a star-spangled bugler’s call.
You make of my words not a loving wellspring.

‘Just a simple reminder: I will come again
And it won’t be to clean up and straighten things out.
I am still good at carpentry, but that won’t do.
I’d be better off keeping a sharp eye on you.
‘Cause you’re making stuff up as you spew it about.
The shit’s got to stop; I will not count to ten!