It may be that your artefact is somewhere on the moon
It may be in the jungle being mauled by a baboon
It may be in a manger being blessed by three wise men —
I guarantee that Hermes parcel won’t be seen again.
It could be on a hillock being sullied by a yak
It could be in Gibraltar in a disused cul-de-sac
It could be in a farmyard in a mountain of manure —
A parcel that’s from Hermes won’t be coming through your door.
Perhaps it’s on a rocket being fired up to Mars
It could be on a spaceship that is circling the stars
You can holler up to heaven, you can genuflect and pray —
The parcel that you’ve ordered will not see the light of day.
It may be in a cavern in the bowels of the earth
It may be at a therapist because of low self-worth
It may be in a forest in the centre of a clearing —
I promise you that Hermes parcel will not be appearing.
It could be up the rectum of a big Alaskan moose
Or else in a bordello and exposed to grave misuse
It could be being borne aloft as part of a procession —
The fact is Hermes parcels don’t come into one’s possession.
But hark! Is that the doorbell, though it’s in the dead of night?
You whoop with pure elation and you bellow in delight!
So out of bed you clamber and then down the stairs you go —
You open up the door… is it the Hermes parcel?
No.
