I cannot build the house in which I thrive
Nor make the clever car I drive,
I haven’t half a wretched clue
How mankind makes a bridge, a spoon, a shoe.
Merrily I jet to Paris
As stupid to its craft as any sack it carries.
Relaxed with cuddly wife and friends
I tweak the TV set, my science ends.
Like any monkey I can tweak and flick
And squeeze and press and twirl and click.
Things happen so a god would gape.
But why? But how? Go ask an ape.
Yet imbecile and talented I go,
Familiar, chipper, treading on your toe,
Blinking through the glasses I can’t grind,
And glad to speak my parasitic mind.