Fresh Baked On the Morrow

Oysters jump at an opportunity to die To be eaten before the tide comes rising Directly from the sea before the shell Before the dawn begins to smell of day In the raw, in the sand, in good company Is best when frolicking by the happy sea The pretty girl comes dancing in In curls of golden locks that spring Wind fills her dress and mind of hollow She sings merrily of imaginary beings From the docks she takes her basket Full of emptiness for idiots like you Down winding streets goes Daisy tip toe Pronouncing words unknown to her That have meaning only to the lunatics Lost souls on narrow streets who like to eat It is a perfect time to sell her wears A litany of exotic goods on sale Barked out loud to catch the near by ear “Hot breads and pies fresh off the fire To warm the cockles of your heart” But there’s nothing in the basket but fresh air Is there a crime or misdemeanor on the streets? “Fresh baked on the morrow” screamed But tomorrow never comes it seems