Past the brush on the other side of town,
Where that dead girl was finally found,
Round the corner folks called Curves West,
Beside the creek where the old men rest,

Left right there with the gall of dames,
Caught up in some dirty games,
Not like the trees and their rustling talk,
But more like some native wisdom stalk,

How it got there’s anyone’s guess,
But all sorts of foolish boys confessed,
To the carving of things in naive jest,
Thinking girls so quick to impress,

Others tell tales about the totem eye,
And how it tells when people lie,
And how at night its teeth are shown,
And what happens then is quite well-known,

But pointing towards the distant sky,
The pyramid winks a turquoise eye,
Knowing the galaxies left to roam,
Before they reach their alien home.