Who's watching the cars from the corner of cul-de-sacs, Who's charging the lawns like an order to grow long, I am, Vain in my bare window I am, Aiming my telescope I am, I've been riding on my high-horse and I do wait, All sullen and sodden above it all about a mile, I will post up still on this pedestal that I built, And I build my anthills And the cities glow that are built with an enviable skill Guess we're born out of gore But I'm blessed with impermeable pores, What a show my noble chromosomes inordered rows And I suffer fools like you, And I suffer fools all my life, And I will blow my hot air, Pulling ants from my hair in my armchair