1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4that suede ferments is not at all well known
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6nought can the mouse’s timid nibbling stave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14they’re kings we’re mammal-cousins hi ho hum
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