(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.

The End

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