(To be read quickly)
Well, it happens as I’m sinking
Into darkness, into slumber
And I prob’ly won’t remember
In the morning, when I wake up
Of that one nocturnal shake-up
With the wise men congregated
In the centre of my bedroom.
And their words were complicated
Slurs of ancient language dated
But I heard the nice one ask me
If, by chance, I’d ever fancied
Play a round of checkers with him
And the others all agreed.
Well, I’m only half much older
Than the half much younger youngster
Staring star-eyed in amazement
At the mystifying placement
Of three wise men. And I reckon
If this second, wise men beckoned
Me to play a round of checkers-
Well, I’d tell ‘em I’d been chosen
By the frozen lederhosen.