Georgie Borge (The Termite)

Georgie Borge was a lemming and
All the others laughed at him
He couldn't draw a single picture and
He hadn't a single friend
No room for you, look at you
A moment-here-tarily disfigured
Planking through this varied state
Aware, the dawn, approaching, slithering along
Shifting just like his plates
Your golden days have past
Enjoy this while it lasts
Oh, what a joy it is t see you here
A marvel only unto not his mother but himself
He left the tree and so left her
There's only so much one can truly do
As only Georgie can tеll
Georgie nevеr played with metal
Only whittling his wood
Smoked his mind out early
Much more sooner than he should
The paradox of one who spun himself out
Every time he could
A cryptic kind of mirror
Missing pages from his book
Georgie was a termite
Small and beady in his hell
Only so much one can do
As only Georgie can tell
Take it away George
Out in the yonder
Scared of all he sees
I can fill the ocean
With a single night of dreams