Many a hand has scaled the grand Old face of the plateau. Some belong to strangers, And some to folks you know. Holy ghosts and talk show hosts Are planted in the sand To beautify the foot hills, Shake the many hands. Nothing on the top but a bucket and a Mop and an ilustrated book about birds. You see a lot up there, but dont be scared. Who needs action When you got words? When youve finished with the mop Then you can stop and look at what you've done. The plateaus clean, no dirt to be seen, And the work, it was fun. Many a hand began to scan around For the next plateau. Some say it was Greenland And some say Mexico. Others decided it was no where, Except for where they stood. Those were all just guesses, Wouldnt help you if they could.