do you know what this is son?   this is the panopticon   and all around us blink the brash   and shifty eyes of common cash      so do we die or do we travel?   down the path by which one dabbles   in the arts of antediluvian crafts   with yarn and glue      so gather twilight to your breast   and couch the rabble-rouser's nest   and we will take a day of rest   and we will all be heaven-blessed      and we will gather 'round to dine   and pass the time with wicked rhymes   and toast in dandelion wines   to hear their mellifluous chimes      we toast the fallow furrows that we sow   we toast the monies that we owe, oh, oh   we toast the creditors we daily face   who topple down with gruesome grace      and we toast the aristocrats with blood of blue   because we know our collars are that color, too   and we toast the artisans of antediluvian crafts   with yarn and glue      we do, we do!