Sitting in an upscale gentleman’s club,

Namely the chic Enclave,

Perched on their stools,

Were Nigel, Pierre, Hideo, Pasqual,

And a few others,

Not to mention, manic Dave.

 

The conversation was philosophical,

Concerning the many roads

To the grave from the cradle,

When Dave stands on his stool and says:

I’m surrounded by idiots,

Then urinates on the table.

 

Dave says there is only one road.

The others say there are many.

The road is golden, says Dave,

Leave the little people behind.

Your one with three others,

To overcome the trials and obstacles you find.

 

Balderdash they say.

There ain’t no Green City.

You’re crazy Dave

And in-ci-dent-ally

The guys in white coats

Are imminent and coming to take you a-way.

 

From the cradle

To the gentleman’s club.

The crowded table, now a padded room.

Dressed in a white straight jacket,

Fedora, plume. And a pink carnation,

Looking beyond the grave,

To the last happy dance, or suffering fornication.

 

Sits Dave.

I’m not crazy,

He vehemently and

Belligerently says,

Everyone else is.

Oh yeah! OK!

Huh! Eh!