And so, seaty comfortibold on the back of this enormous buzzymost of the fly, voooop, they tooked off, like an escaped velocy of the rocket floatin into orbit yeah. Now after floating high hup, over the mounty, through the deep valley of that, for seven whole long days, they did a very soft and flat belly landiny, if I may put it this way. Where they landed, a tranquil beauty spot, before a deep fundamold of a forry. Like August in the undergrowth, there it was. And the fly said it, "I must leave you here", and he pointed here, with his sort of fly type fingold, it was all feathery feathery, and said: "Mad John, mark me words, He liveth in a cave there in this far deep forry, and he will transport for you and find it, not only the moon itself which you looked, but the philosophy of life to itself." And Stan had a mutual joy for this, and reach up and cudlymost of this big fly, and very hard to embrace it and mode mmm qff qff kissy, and the fly tickled him with his whiskers in his eardrome. And off he went

There was an old man who lived in the greenwood
Nobody knew him or what he had done
But mothers would say to their children, "Beware of Mad John."

John would sing with the birds in the morning
Laugh with the wind in the cold end of night
But people from behind their curtains, said he's not quite right

John had it sussed he was living the life of a tramp
Yes his bed was the cold and the damp but the sun was his friend
He was free

So here was a wise one who loved all the haters
He loved them so much that their hate turned to fear
And shaking from behind their curtains the loved ones would hear