Many a hand scaled the grand old face of the plateau Some belonged to strangers, some to folks you know Holy ghosts and talk show hosts are planted in the sand To beautify the foothills, and shake the many hands
Nothing on top but a bucket and a mop And an illustrated book about birds See a lot up there but don't be scared Who needs action when you got words
When you've finished with the mop then you can stop And look at what you've done The plateau's clean, no dirt to be seen And the work it took was fun
Many a hand began to scan around for the next plateau Some say it was greenland, and some say mexico Others decided it was nowhere except for where they stood But those were all just guesses, wouldn't help you if they could
