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lyrics

A thinktank of steampunks assembled in a broken-down warehouse to make a plan
Involving a galvanized kiddie pool of boiling liquid and a hanging man
A hero is summoned - by a cavalcade of misfits who can't seem to work alone -
By sending a signal several miles and-a-half to the buzzing red bulb of a Bakelite telephone
(Bakelite Telephone
Ah, ah!)

"I'll call him, sir."
"We're in luck! He's at home!"

Adorn with britches held up by a belt containing fragments of a local mountaineering store
He dashes to the roof to find a trapezoidal skylight he can use to make it to the floor
A poorly thought-out crash alerts the henchmen to the entrance of the masquerading paladin
And, suddenly, a hail of fists and punctuated verbs surround the spot our hero is standing in

Alarmed, but not confused by how their multitude of guards were overtaken by a lone man in a cape,
The group becomes a scatter, setting everything on fire with each racketeer attempting an escape
Stirring up the smoke, some twirling bolas snare the cutthroats and their league is forced to recombine
The law arrives on scene to find the hooligans aloft the steaming kettle of their own design

credits

from I'm sorry this took so long, Mr. Parks​.​.​. (Adam, the songwriter from Texas), released January 28, 2024

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Adam Thorton Tyler, Texas

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