Many a hand has scaled the grand old face of the plateau   Some belong to strangers and some to folks you know   Holy ghosts and talk show hosts are planted in the sand   To beautify the foothills and shake the many hands      There's nothing on the top but a bucket and a mop   And an illustrated book about birds   You see a lot up there but don't be scared   Who needs action when you got words      When you're finished with the mop then you can stop   And look at what you've done   The plateau's clean, no dirt to be seen   And the work it took was fun      Well the many hands began to scan around for the next plateau   Some said it was Greenland and some say Mexico   Others decided in was nowhere except for where they stood   But those were all just guesses, wouldn't help you if they could