Every year in a beautiful
part of Beverly Hills
many people of many different lands
end up by admitting that the only place
to go is the tomb of Sigmund Freud
which luckily is also in a
beautiful part of Beverly Hills.

They are supplied with keys at birth
which they can sometimes when they feel
the urge
turn off.
But sometimes these people somehow
lose their precious keys
Then they cry “Oh, deary me!”
We’re all wound up and we cannot
wind us down!”

That is when they all go to the tomb
It is a gruesome sight and only
the very toughest kids are allowed out
on the day of the pilgrimage.
They laugh when people hobble by
with weird repetitive mechanical spasms.
They know better than to cry.

The poor pilgrims gather in front
of the richly ornamented and exquisitely colourful
fountain which many a busy camera
had captured to preserve its fine and
glorious workmanship, for admiring posterity.

One by one each member of this motley crew
has his head dipped under the water
to see if he can find his key.

It’s stupid really, no one ever does.
But it gives them hope.
Personally, I go for the change of air,
And I never get excited over keys.
Some people say I should be
Psycho-analysed, but I’d probably end up
with everybody else’ key
and then there’d be fun.