| Lyrics |
many a hand has scaled the grand old face of the plateausome belong to strangers and some to folks you knowholy ghosts and talk show hosts are planted in the sandto beautify the foothills and shake the many handsthere's nothing on the top but a bucket and a mopand an illustrated book about birdsyou see a lot up there but don't be scaredwho needs action when you got wordswhen you're finished with the mop then you can stopand look at what you've donethe plateau's clean, no dirt to be seenand the work it took was funwell the many hands began to scan around for the next plateausome said it was in greenland and some in mexicosome decided it was nowhere except for where they stoodbut they were all just guesses, wouldn't help you if they could
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