suddenly the dance is over
big magic rubberballs would cut your hair
and smaller ones made of steel roll up stairs
raining down from storm scattered clouds

and you'd hide in some bamboo shelter
listening to some grey haired wife
where you find secret book
written by insane missionars

when the balls rain down,
you'd better hide
you'd better wake up
happy birthday my dear
i hope you feel better now

Hallo Welt