Oh, hey, it's the idiot again, running 'round in loops

Getting dizzy as he falls down and is so pooped

Don't know what to do, he is just so stooped

Every fucking thing he does is just: "Oops!"

His life's the same old pattern, following the loops

He's just so cuckoo, locked in the chicken coops,

So hopped up on pills that you call in the troops,

High as a kite, believes he can fly into the hoops,

In spare time, he likes making so many loops,

It's what he's destined to do, go back to his roots,

It's so fitting for him, just how well that it suits,

No one knows what it's like to walk miles in his boots,

It just seems as if he was force fed forbidden fruits,

He's done it again; he's made another loop,

He steps onto the stool, raised about a foot,

His life is so crude, it was all but a hoot,

Now he tears up as here's just where that he stood,

He raises his foot, steps, it was just a small scoot,

His neck was caught by a hook, board, and of course the loop,

And his whole life was a feud, this whole point seems so moot,

He fell in love with the loop, and fell to death in the loop,

And there we have it, the portrait of a tortured mute,

They say every day or two, in the house where he grew,

You will hear his laughing and ooh, his crying's so blue,

Sometimes, the ceiling board will come loose,

And that is the truth, of the boy and his loops,

And how the idea feels so comforting.