You could not see a plane, because
No plane was fueled to fly.
No cars were driving on the road,
There was no gas to buy.
The Walrus and the Carpenter,
The latter head of state;
They wept like anything to see,
The fruits of Watergate.
“I’ll not wallow in this mess,”
Said one. “Don’t,” said his mate.
“If senators with seven tapes
Searched for all the year,
Do you suppose,” asked Carpenter,
“That we could get off clear?”
“I doubt it, boss,” said the Walrus,
And shed a bitter tear.
The Walrus and the Carpenter
Walked on a mile ahead
When inspiration came. “Sir,
There’s something you should know,”
The Walrus said, “I wish to stay,
But I think that I should go.”
The Carpenter was all alone
As the ocean roared,
And the timid, tiny oysters
Formed an inquiry board.
So he called a lobster to his side,
‘Twas the best he could afford.
O woeful, weeping Carpenter, your
Tears are all a sham.
Why don’t you do like Walrus did
And take it on the lam?
Too late to shut the Watergate
Or the bursting dam.
“The time has come,” said Carpenter,
“To talk of many things.
Of China and of income tax,
Of prisoners and kings,
And what detante is or is not,
And does Kissinger have wings?”
“But wait a bit,” the oysters cried,
“Before going on with that.
We think that’s just a cover-up,
Like your paper hat,
And if you don’t come clean,
We’re going to toss you out.”
“Toss me out,” said the Carpenter.
“Don’t you realize
The tales you’ve been told
Are only lobster lies
And exaggerations made up
By newspaper spies?
“First they kicked my dog about
And then my Walrus friend.
It’s a left wing conspiracy
To bring me to an end,
And if you don’t cease right now,
I shan’t speak to you again.”
