whirligig twister
dancer prancer
st vituss quester
chancer romancer
the inkman cometh
from that nether world
where dream and coincidence
are darkly furled
accident rubbed him
into puzzling light
he is what he isnt
(hes the geist of zeit)
whirligig twister
dancer prancer
st vituss quester
chancer romancer
he cannot move
but he never stops
particle-wave
(ask the science-cops)
all creation swirls
from his restless frame
he isnt what he is
thats the inkmans game
whirligig twister
dancer prancer
st vituss quester
chancer romancer
(ii) ninkam poop
so this the inkmans alter ego
the fool who shadows us
wherever we go
he cant get right a thing in the light
desperately wants to be our amigo
but he knows us
knows us
knows us from the inside out
each beat of the heart
(hes in with a shout)
sets him dancing (call it prancing)
hes what the dreamt worlds all about
and were just à la carte
à la carte
to him his à la carte (his me
and you) his raison detre
such a fool we cant be-
lieve hes a manifest of our mutual quest
to live to the full fates strange decree
etcetera
etcetera
etcetera wow this idiot
poop the inkman bringeth
(proof hes what hes not)
is the sum already of our going steady
(on even keel patiently - why not)
and why not he singeth
danceth
danceth our lot (our ninkam poop)
our nobility of folly
(our lifes amazing scoop)
the making of joy from almost lost alloy
an astonishing loop the loop
by two half off their trolley
how jolly
