What is this little thing
Up upon the ceiling
Is it an object yet untold
Or is it just a little bit of mold

Oh radda radda

Is it up there on its own
In its own wooden throne
Or was it put there by mischance
In some sickly romance

Whats its color or its shade
The shadows seem to make it fade
I cannot even see its shape
When its up there on the rafter's scape

I can't see it, I do not know
Unless ten more feet I grow
Now come on stool, let me up
So I may see its setup

Oh radda radda

Oh silly me, oh weary mind
My eyes are truly blind
I'll step down now and realize
That I am laughing at my cocked eyes

Oh radda radda