mewithoutYou – The Fox The Crow And The Cookie (Guitar)

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  Through mostly vacant streets, a baker from the outskirts of his town

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Earned his living peddling sweets from the ragged cart he dragged around.

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The clever fox crept close behind, kept an ever-watchful eye

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For a chance to steal a ginger spice cake or a boysenberry pie.

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Looking down was the hungry crow, "When the time is right, I'll strike

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And condescend to the earth below and take whichever treat I'd like."

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The moment the baker turned around to shoo the fox off from his cart,

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The crow swooped down and snatched a shortbread cookie and a German chocolate tart.

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Using most unfriendly words that the village children had not yet heard,

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the baker shouted threats by canzonette to curse the crafty bird.

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"You rotten wooden mixing spoon! Why you midnight winged racoon!

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You better bring those pastries back, you no-good burned-black macaroon!"

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The fox approached the tree where the bird was perched, delighted in his nest.

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"Brother Crow, don't you remember me? It's your old friend Fox with a humble request.

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If you could share just a modest piece, seeing as I distracted that awful man."

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This failed to persuade the crow in the least, so the fox rethought his plan.

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"Then if your lovely song would grace my ears, or to even hear you speak,

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Would ease my pains and fears." The crow looked down with a candy in his beak.

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"Your poems of wisdom, my good crow, what a paradise they bring!"

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This flattery pleased the proud bird, so he opened his mouth and began to sing:

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"Your subtle acclamation's true! Best to give praise where praise is due.

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Every rook and jay in the Corvidae's been raving about me too.

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They admire me, one and all. Must be the passion in my caw!

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My slender bill known through the escadrille, my fierce commanding claw!"

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I got a walnut brownie brain, and molasses in my veins,

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Crushed graham cracker crust, my powdered sugared funnel cake cocaine.

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Let the crescent cookie rise. These carob colored almond eyes

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Would rest to see my cashewed princess in the swirling marble sky.

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Will rest upon the knee, where all the visions cease to be

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A root beer float in our banana boat across the tapioca sea.

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When letting all attachments go, is the only prayer we know,

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May it be so, may it be so, may it be so, oh.