There's an old man laughing at the cellar door As his little dog plays croquette He was painting all the doorknobs yellow Then he threw them all away There's always something strange going on But all's quiet to its extreme Except the old man laughing at the cellar door Must somehow mean something I sent a letter to their box Marked it special delivery I didn't give it a return address So they don't know it's from me I had to tell them something Important I'm sure they know But the little dog can't reach the mailbox And the old man's way too slow The old man reads his paper About three times every day While the little dog makes paper planes Out of the bills they're suppose to pay And both of them like their Saturdays Filled with cakes and fries And they never leave to go into town Except to buy green apple pies I was gonna take them some books and things For their Sunday chicken fair But I couldn't catch a train out west Because the station wasn't there So I bought a ticket at the bus stop For some time in mid June And I'll head out when the weather's warm Before summer comes too soon The little dog, his name is Dog And the old man, he's my friend It's been years since I've seen them both Where they live at some dead end I use to hop a train going west But it could have been just my dream Because something strange is going on All's quiet to its extreme (OK, I guess the heat is getting to me!!)