of montreal
inside a room full of treasures a black pygmy horse's head pops up ...
There's a hole in my sock Where my shoe always bites it And that's got to stop or else I'll feel foolish at the sock-hop, yeah The sacraments slouch Near the garnish toupet with ceramic  My name's Marcus and I'm a Martian mime Well, of course I'm a mime Where do you think I got This scoop of Scottish cheese And not a brick From brown government buildings?  There's a cloud in my clock Where the seconds always chide it And that's got to stop If I'm going to ride aboard the herbivore, yeah Whose hourglass fingers Look starved through the mask  My name's Cassius and I've metamorphosized Into a nosy guest talking dresses Made of pheasant breasts From magazine gown gazebo And a red-sabred pompous horseman There's a glare from my smock Where a cardinal ate his shadow And that's got to stop If I'm going to garnish an acorn souffle  The clowns kneel down and pray That the police will go away After first giving them back their balms So they can swat each other's bearded faces Once again, once again  There's an "oh my" and "my goodness" Genuflecting as in battle And that's got to stop If I'm going to convert a bouncing Chan Marshall