House In The Trees

If I should happen to, step on your toes and everyone knows,

Then I’ll run away to my house in the trees,

Where there blows a cool breeze and I’m free to be me,

And I’ll sit and sip on cups of tea, chain smoking,

Getting Tim Tams on weekends,

And I’ll chat away with the birds and the bees,

Asking about nest building and stinging small children,

And they will look at me quizzically,

As if to say, “We only exist in your mind.”



And if you should want to,

Come to my tree house and hang out with me,

Then I’ll make up lot’s of bad excuses,

I’ve run out of tea and I need to do washing,

Because my tree house is just for me,

It isn’t for you and the birds get bad allergies,

So if you were to intrude they’d fall from the trees,

And they’d land on the bees,

And I’d walk around and I’d scoop them up,

I’d scoop them into my cooking pot,

And I’d make a lovely bird and bee stew,

But I would not share any of my stew with you,

Cause you’ve come into my house in the trees,

And adversely affected the biodiversity of my mind.