The cows in the moo yard are making their plans
For the long winter nights and the cold winter hands
Some out in the fields, are covered with snow
The black ones turn white and the white ones don't show
Big lumps in the sunset, between bovine dreams
Their icicled udders are waiting for spring
And up from the road, comes the sound of the wheel
Just an old ice cream wagon, they say, "I know how you feel"
Some dream of India, where their cousins are stars
But they don't like the crowds, they stay where they are
And some dream of Florida, of roaming the beach
With metal detectors for gold they can reach
Well, what can you do? It's the ice or the flies
The temperature slowing, the tails going by
It's a dairy existence, and I must conclude
Cold milk in a bottle still beats frozen food