It’s just a happy, little song,

Found on the street, then it was gone.

It ran like mad to get away,

From buskers, who will never pay,

 For fancy songs, like this cute tune,                                                       

Played by some Things, on silver spoon.

Things sure enjoy much music-ing,

They play on pipes and Special Strings.

 ood music helps to keep Things cool,

If it is hot or not’s the rule.

They play on Strings Celestial,

Some times perform at Festivals.

 With Cosmic Strings, so very small,

Most people can’t see them at all.

For everything is made of Strings;

Tied up quite tight, in lines and rings,

 Which vibrate at specific speed,

Producing all the bits we need,

To keep the world spinning around,

The whole world runs on lots of sound.

 There’s not much else that it’s made of,

Except a lot of Laughs and Love;

Which Things will share, with all about,

As long as you don’t Fart or shout.

These Things are very sensitive,

They also are inquisitive.                           

They live in trees, to keep them high,

Above the ground, below the sky;


Out in the bush, where AUSMIES hide,

From Harry Hunter and his tribe,

Of hunters, chasing AUSMIES who,

They trap and send to Southern zoos.

 Where they are locked away for life,

This really isn’t very nice.

For then they can’t hear Things play Strings

That keeps together everything.

 Things live in trees to not wear out,

The ground below, without a doubt.

They stay up high, singing their airs,

To not wear out the earth downstairs.

 or, if we wear the ground right out,

We’ll fall right through, to then come out;

Somewhere that we have never been,

It could be in some strange new dream.

 Or in a space of nothing else,

Without out a ground floor or a shelf;

On which to sit, if Things get tired,

That’s why Things like to live up high.

 One day some Things went for a stroll,

To check life out, so far below.

They took some Strings as good Things do,

In case they needed something new.

 Or maybe, there, to play a song,

For AUSMIES, who could sing along.

Down for good Things, is hard to take,

Unless they’re offered tea and cake.

 Good Things all like to be up high,

Between the earth and lower sky.

Where they can be so many Things,

Making the world, with lots of Strings.

 As Things strolled through the tangled scrub,

An AUSMIE fell down, from above;

He landed on his feet and said,

“It’s you again, I am so glad,

 To see you walking on the ground;

Come on back home and meet the crowd,

Of AUSMIES, who live in the bush,

Go steady, you don’t have to rush.

 It’s great to see you Things again,

Maybe you’ll play a sweet refrain,

For all my mates and Herman too,

Music to help him make new shoes.”

 The Things all smiled and went along,

They always like to sing a song,

To play their Strings for one and all,

No longer scared that they may fall,

Through ground that has been worn right out,

Strings keep it safe, without a doubt.