Little Einstein was severely retarded
He used to headbang if left unguarded
When he saw a number, he got a panic attack
Black black, carbon black

Little J.D. Salinger, a full-time disaster
With his skinned knees and white frayed plasters
Every single time he heard a story
Crashed his skull into the boiler

Why do you insist on our frontal lobes?
Here we are, full of vital fluids
An astonishing sense of humor
A superb way of creating rumor

Little Picasso
was one of a kind
And it’s widely accepted
he was color blind

In the mirror our hocus-pocus
We will never really focus
Why do you harass us with your interviews?
All we need is just a garden with a view

The quarks, the rays
Aimless movements across our face
Our mind spots a catcher in the rye
Spastic movements between our thighs
String theory and honeyed cellos
Shaky movements under our elbows
We’ll be the worst villain
Movements movements movements
Movements even in our brain

It’s really tough
A target to identify
Lost in this sweet heaven
of redundant stimuli

It’s really hard
To freeze, to stand, to paralyze
Could I with a blinder
Or maybe with a ball-and-chain?

It’s a fearful task
Finding the right measure
It probably would be enough
To resist the akathisia

Little Edison never did his homework
Anytime he tried to open his books
All of a sudden he had to stand up
and play, play, desperately play

Little Chesnutt
Our juicy fruit
We know he was constantly
Out of tune

If you admire David Robert Jones
You should possibly get to know
That when he wrote his compelling lyrics
He couldn’t help carelessly nose-picking
Cubist seizures as in Guernica
Aimless movements from our fingers
Electricity, neon lights
Frantic movements across our eyes
An unstoppable wheel-chair
Awful movements all through our hair
We’ll eat spiders for the next five years
Movements movements movements
Movements even in my tears

Listening to our nonsense jokes
You might argue we are phase-delayed
But if you experienced our St. Vitus’ dance
We’d persuade you we are phase-advanced

A little genius needs to save his rights
Just, for instance, to twist and shout
A stroke of genius deserves attention
But not the one you use to think about

Having fun with my infant’s pokes
I will never ever really focus
Why do you harass me with your questionnaires?
I want my thoughts to freely hover in the air

In the mirror our hocus-pocus
We will never really focus
Why do you harass us with your questionnaires?
We want our thoughts to freely hover in the air.