rumple still still

Can't think of nothing, can't think of nothing, can't think of nothing, the sleet is on its way. Forget thinking of something, regret next to nothing, get out and get a treat on the way. It's your fire department fining the forest for pushing the level too far. And it's your finest teacher driving in a too fine car. Give me some room to focus on the punchline, the lyrics to inspire, the greatest of desires, 'til everything comes out in its own way! Yet I'll be sitting in the bridge of the song, picking apart right from wrong, and knowing nothing but owing something to crease, to mend, to mold into clay, to feel, to laugh, to inspire, to hold at bay. Rumps are moving is what they'll say...