Many a hand has scaled the grand old face of the plateau

Some belonged to strangers, some to folks you know

Holy ghosts and talk show hosts are planted in the sand

To beautify the foothills, and shake the many hands



Nothing on the top but a bucket and a mop

And an illustrated book about birds

See a lot up there but don't be scared

Who needs action when you get words



Finished with the mop then you can stop

And look at what you've done

The plateau's clean, no dirt to be seen

And the work it was fun



Many a hands began to scan around for the next plateau

Some say it was Greenland, and some say Mexico

Others decided it was nowhere except for where they stood

But those were all just guesses, wouldn't help you if they could