The trees are blue hang from clouds.
The men remain quiet the women loud.
For the oppression is over, it has died.
And a wondrous new age for women has arrived.

The penguins all fly, flamingos waddle.
There's no such thing as a skinny model.
For all their throats were singed from the bile.
And, truth be told, bulimia grew quickly out of style.

The animals talk, laugh and joke,
Yet never ask each other for a smoke.
For who wants to fill their lungs with black,
And lead themselves to respiratory attack?

The pines dance, and rocks do flips
And alcohol never grazes anyone's lips.
For it could turn any father into a monster
And the memories dwell in the daughter and haunt her.

But, no. It's not possible, it's a trap.
Everywhere you turn, a child is slapped.
There are numbers with a hand to loan,
But the child will forever be alone.

Yes, the child will forever be alone.