(H)itting (I)t on the (M)ark
Sitting atop a cloud,
The scientists play the saxophones,
Hitting all the minor tones,
That stir the pot around.
Must have been something strong in the tea,
Lungs full of love, luck flows far up above,
Even though we’re a spot in the heaven’s sea.
You got to give HIM credit, and HIM’s mysterious ways,
Close yours eyes, clinking ice, cheers to the wise,
To the man who does exactly what he says