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 

The 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've 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 in Greenland and some in Mexico 
Some decided it was nowhere 
Except for where they stood 
But they were all just guesses, wouldn't help you if they could