Frankly not quite fruitful
Measuring cups and glasses
Everyone gets a spoonful of leisure and love and molasses

But there’s no goal
There’s only a wanting to
A wanting to score
But no team to belong to
Not that you’re on your own
Just that no one knows what you’re on to
You set a goal
You ring a bell
And the bell goes oh-oh

There is no spoon
There’s just a rhythm to move to
There are no moves
Just leave me room to move to
I get knocked down but I get up again
No you’re never gonna keep me down
Til I go down, down, down

Frankly not quite useful
Leaving me wondering about amusement
Wild wonder of sense of uselessness
Filling my dreams, tears and my glasses