I'm so very glad you're there
To keep us from being them,
To save us from all that madness
Though between the tree-line and the border-line
We're hemmed in with wolves and timber
In stale, stagnant snow-whiteness
Everything being completely natural
And old-fangled, of course
Lock an infant in a room,
And one assumes,
That sooner, or later,
It will eventually have to invent a new language
Northern monkeys on distinctly northern typewriters, yes?
So, nevertheless
I'm so very glad you're there
To keep us from being them
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