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Forty-Two
There is a man who has a question
He's in demand but has no conception
It isn't planned, it hasn't even been thought through
A subtle twist, a sinking sorrow
Just think of this: there's no tomorrow|
If you could list it all what would it come to?
The answer is 42.
We are not fools who sleep and slumber
We are not tools, we are the lumber
We think it's cruel while we wonder what we'll do
The mists of time, a falling curtain
No reasoned rhyme, it's so uncertain
Put in your coin and you hope that the call goes through
When the number is 42.
[bridge]
Tell me what you know, I'll tell you if we can do it
If I knew what you know, I'm sure we would get through it
We gotta do it
There is a babe who has an answer
On Heaven's lathe you'll find a dancer
And in her wake they speak of borrowed blue
The wedding bells are in the chapel
He wants to tell her all about the apple
He's in her spell, but he wonders what they'll do
When they're both 42.
A group of men, they speak of Nietzsche
Some think it sin, some think it easy
Some think it's been this way the whole way through
They want to laugh, but they can't grab it
They want to graft
They want to have their cake and eat it, too
Their number is 42.
You take it down the straight and narrow
You hear the sound: the broken arrow
You may not drown but you may not make it through
You're in a fix, 'tween hell and heaven
There are no tricks, you take what's given
It's 9 by 6, and you wonder if it's true
That the answer is 42.
© 1992 Chuck Puckett