There is a crayon in my head
Which draws things I don’t get
There is a shovel in my head
Which digs holes I don’t need
There is a needle in my head
Which for lack of thread
Just lies there piercing my thoughts
There is a rope in my head
That tangles itself in knots
There is a stone in my head
Which skips and skips and skips
There is a hand in my head
Which taps and flaps and slaps
There is a sound in my head
Which lets nothing else heard
It rings and sings and slings and stings
It hurdles and curdles
It flips
It floats it dives it glides it strikes
It sprints
It reverses it kicks it stomps it blocks it flaunts
And I
Have but a crayon