The Deer Comes Down the Mountain
Now we gather worshipful.
The gears in his legs shine down.
He lifts his head.
Here he comes!
We're erecting a maypole with green ribbons.
His legs are four probes.
And his back is a ship
And his eyes are holes in the curtain.
We're eating cookies in the shape of him.
The icing is gold and silver.
He's shedding gears, here he comes tripping!
He is casting off the elastic bindings.
Now we're hanging giant flags.
The wind-up key sticks in his side like a blade.
The wind rocks him on his wheels,
Here he comes, crawling!
The bright obvious shines in his body.
Here comes the electric, the burning mystery!