He was born in the first grade hungry little lion swallowed all he saw still he's barely alive he was a colorful person born of some colorful people when he opened up his mouth he poured some colorful speeches his home was a tar paper palette tyvek green house pumped into the culdesac gravel housing his house where living like the drinks are rivers, wells, creeks, oceans, bays every year we get a little older found in his ways "i hope he never grows, grows into nothing" he's not so well behaved what are we to do get him to the digging get him over in the corner got a little place out in the crystal fires no one wants you no one wants you no one wants you what are we to do? no one wants you no one wants you no one wants you what are we to do? no one wants you no one wants you no one wants you what are we to do? no one wants you no one wants you no one wants you what are we to do? starving empty stares pushed it down in the parking lots the valley, lake, carrs and the riverbed hang outs a long way from the little lion in black full-body snow-suits snowshoe, goosebay and neighbors claims on empty lots where guns and gold were goals given up given his pace below all the giants growing up at fantastic pace