Ah, questions men ask of themselves
after having answered.
The motorboat has no sails.
The motorboat goes over the handsome
waves and leaves tails, no trails.
The answer’s in the water,
cure is in the rain.
It is a desiccant to humble men.
For full gaping wondering,
salt water in the mouth.
Our vacations are all alkaline,
and an awful pain.
Oh! Someone in the next boat over
drops a phone into the water,
another drops a dog bone.
We will be leaving soon.
No one will be staying.
Mainly men, we are coming back again.
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