bed, home, years, gone, more, now
1
No more monkeys jumping on the bed!
The monkeys have all grown up and left home,
monkeys growing fewer as our years
wind down—lonely, because our monkeys are gone.
Monkeys take to the roads—heard from no more?
We love the monkeys, but they’re wandering now.
2
How can we find joy in our lives now
that the monkeys have stopped jumping on the bed?
Our house no longer feels like home
without sweet monkey-chatter, and the years
pummel us thin until we too are gone,
vanished, not remembered any more;
3
wishing it were true that there be many mo’
monkeys, though we live nowhere now—
waking up cold in a broken bed,
in a place we no longer recognize as home,
contemplating the sheer ending of our years—
that’s how life feels when your monkeys are gone.
4
They say we’ll feel nothing when our life is done—
you’ll never hear our gladsome chirrup more—
removed completely from the time of now,
our days all stored away and put to bed,
days when we heard about a better home—
our honeycomb, reward for all our years.
5
Trying to get back before the beginning of years.
No one had yet been born, so no one could be gone—
no one expecting less, everyone expecting more—
the exact opposite of our situation now.
All souls were a single monkey jumping on the bed
of nothingness, our past and future home.
6
You can take our scissors, Ginger Nut, we're going home,
done clipping the sad alnage of the years—
Long John, like a turkey through the corn, done gone.
You won’t be seeing Long John any more.
Long John’s a bright star in the firmament now
in the constellation, Monkeys Jumping on the Bed.
7
Our song is done—no need to sing it more—
monkeys gone—remembered through the years—
gone and left home—No more jumping on the bed!
1
No more monkeys jumping on the bed!
The monkeys have all grown up and left home,
monkeys growing fewer as our years
wind down—lonely, because our monkeys are gone.
Monkeys take to the roads—heard from no more?
We love the monkeys, but they’re wandering now.
2
How can we find joy in our lives now
that the monkeys have stopped jumping on the bed?
Our house no longer feels like home
without sweet monkey-chatter, and the years
pummel us thin until we too are gone,
vanished, not remembered any more;
3
wishing it were true that there be many mo’
monkeys, though we live nowhere now—
waking up cold in a broken bed,
in a place we no longer recognize as home,
contemplating the sheer ending of our years—
that’s how life feels when your monkeys are gone.
4
They say we’ll feel nothing when our life is done—
you’ll never hear our gladsome chirrup more—
removed completely from the time of now,
our days all stored away and put to bed,
days when we heard about a better home—
our honeycomb, reward for all our years.
5
Trying to get back before the beginning of years.
No one had yet been born, so no one could be gone—
no one expecting less, everyone expecting more—
the exact opposite of our situation now.
All souls were a single monkey jumping on the bed
of nothingness, our past and future home.
6
You can take our scissors, Ginger Nut, we're going home,
done clipping the sad alnage of the years—
Long John, like a turkey through the corn, done gone.
You won’t be seeing Long John any more.
Long John’s a bright star in the firmament now
in the constellation, Monkeys Jumping on the Bed.
7
Our song is done—no need to sing it more—
monkeys gone—remembered through the years—
gone and left home—No more jumping on the bed!
