The Great Doer of Things

Wouldn't want to inconvenience the great doer of things
When he visits the suburbs in the middle of the night.
We use quick lime to wash away the song he sings.

The moon here is like a sandbox filled with smoke rings,
The air so thin it’s like an orphan’s blanket lit by light.
Wouldn't want to inconvenience the great doer of things,

Who goes through all the trash looking for chicken wings,
Who stalks our daughters until they go stiff with freight.
We use quick lime to wash away the song he sings.

He knows all the hotels where we book our secret flings,
And to catch us there in a quick embrace gives him delight --
Wouldn't want to inconvenience the great doer of things.

Nobody knows how he arrives or what tool he slings;
His face was only seen once, but the angle wasn’t right.
We use quick lime to wash away the song he sings;

He has no voice for singing, and the little joy it brings
Is probably created by some other thing, in hindsight.
Wouldn't want to inconvenience the great doer of things.
We use quick lime to wash away the song he sings.