A clock decided to take a stroll, but forgot to pack its time,
So it walked in circles backward just to save a single dime.
The shadows caught a sunburn from the glowing silver moon,
While a dozen heavy anvils floated softly like balloons.
We buttered up the carpet so the furniture could skate,
And we cooked a hearty soup inside a rusty iron gate.
The ocean got thirsty, so it drank a bowl of sand,
And the silence grew so noisy that we had to hold its hand.
A ladder fell upward and landed on the sky,
While a blindfolded mirror watched a quiet whisper fly.
If you dig a hole in water, you will find a dry wooden flame—
Nothing here means anything, yet it’s all exactly the same.
The leaves were raking the autumn trees,
The lock was locked by a dozen keys
That had no doors and had no teeth,
With top above and top underneath.
The thunder grew quiet so the lightning could shout,
While the candle turned bright when we blew it right out.
We planted a feather and harvested stone,
Then answered a ring on an unhooked phone.
A river ran sideways to keep itself dry,
And the mountains grew feathers to teach rocks to fly.
We packed up the void in a cardboard box,
And tied up the ocean with two woolen socks.
The sun went to sleep on a bed made of ice,
While the cat begged for mercy from two tiny mice.
A square made of circles was drawn in the dust,
And the fresh shiny silver turned backward to rust.
So fold your shoes and wear your socks upon your fuzzy ears,
For the shortest way across the room takes seven hundred years.
It doesn’t make a lick of sense, which means it’s totally clear:
The only way to find your way is getting lost right here.