The beetles are playing again
Rolling little balls of dung around the tongue
They sadden and they sway in bed
They bury all their treasure down inside our lungs
When they're feasting on their feces with a crunching, munching sound
You'll never find more contented kind though you search the world around
And they tumble on down to the depths of the grounds
And they wail and they gnash and they click
And they're feasting on their feces with a crunching, munching sound
You'll never find more contented kind though you search the world around
And they tumble on down to the depths of the grounds
And they wail and they gnash and they click