It’s wetter than I want to be
And so I choose the land.
My weighty friend, great gravity,
Prefers that I should stand.
A boat is an alternative,
But some do sink out there.
Why leave the land and try to live
And float in some nowhere?
There are those creatures in that deep
Who wishy-washy roam.
I’ll count on waves of dreamy sheep.
I’d rather sleep at home.
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