The ants go marching one by one,
Green crickets chirping crudely.
The picnic basket weaved of brown,
The footprint of the giant,
The soft tear marks of his weeping.
As the beetles hide inside their shells,
Ladybugs count their luck.
The vultures circle the living dead,
The unicorn hair is plucked.
Living, laughing, loving, gone.
A phoenix bursting through the flame.
Scarlet ashes turn to gray,
As the pluckiest wand is drawn.
Magic twitters through the air,
As centaurs claim their glory.
The stars yearn to break free of the haze,
That the human being leaves nightly.
The ending sweet,
As a bitter pill,
Spread like margarine on bread.
As the ants go marching one by one,
And the magic never ends.