The Summertime.

It's cold at night in the summertime.
Daisies are blooming.
We go to the park and see airplanes flying
overhead, makeing a buzz buzzing sound.

In the distance, deer are grazing like cows,
going from one place to another, like a
boat on the sea.  I can't stand to see them suffer,
so I take down the fence that surrounds them,

and send them on their way, with a lunch pail
and a note from their mothers.  Everything is simply put:
don't do this, don't do that, we hear the deer chomping
on grass.  I wish I was a deer-perhaps a cow,

except I wouldn't want to get slaughtered.
No one feels like reading anymore.
It's too dark out to see.