If this sounds circular, surely I’m not the first
Another snake eating its tail
A white whale, honey, a white whale
And it might take one hundred years
But all this work will disappear
These clamorous thoughts
That once seemed so important suddenly seem so small
Still, I’ve got to be heard, got to prove my worth
It can’t be good to be king of a hill of beans
Because at the end of the day, we’ve all got to eat
And it might take one hundred years
But all this work will disappear
These clamorous thoughts
That once seemed so important suddenly seem so small
If these were my last words
Surely I’m not the first
To exclaim my disdain with this indifferent universe
And it might take one hundred years
I swear to God I’ll disappear
These clamorous thoughts
Will be all but lost, all be written up
This mortality can get so depressing, so debilitating
I nearly forgot; it’s good to be king, king of the hill of beans