Lyrics: Laura Tanne.
He is a decaying pumpkin in a rosy field.
Of redwood is the elegant office,
And round and yellow his senile head,
Prim and straight I sit taking dictation.
My hair lies in dark, peaceful folds,
My fingernails cut in pink foreignness to grime.
“Yes, sir.” “No, sir.” inhabit my speech.
But yet I am one of the masses
A black vicious beetle
Which will someday inject
The black cancer of class war
Into the rosy field of the office
To suck and destroy the essence of decrepit pumpkins.