This is not a rehearsal The grazing cow, the harvest mouse Fear not, the blood red slaughterhouse. When first a dog looks on your face She looks for love, not creed or race. The giant crab or basking skate They worry not about their fate. Foresight, it's the curse of man To know that there's no master plan. This fear of life, to us unique Curtails our dreams and makes us weak. Ephemeral as our beans on toast Shed those shackles, lay that ghost.