Crop Circles

Gimme a cereologist! Call a ufologist!
I got circles in my barley! I got circles in my lawn!
My dog is going bonkers! My cat's hoop city too!
The frogs have all stopped chirpin'. My wife is really gone!

Wasn't no plasma vortex or dust devil here!
The patterns are too crisp, too complicated, man!
Show me a force of nature writing hieroglyphs!
We're talkin' Leonardo, some UFO Cezanne!

Look! It'd take six men six days to create
a design like this elaborate key shape here.
That polygon is perfect. No hoaxer could make
such subtle glyphs, not even an engineer.

How would he get here without leaving a mark?
There are no footprints; I'd've heard a chopper.
The grain is all laid flat, in a perfect whorl.
Not a stalk is broken. Put that in your hopper!

Whatever did this did it in the dead of night,
and did it undetected, without wakin' Rex!
I'd've seen lights. They would need a canon spot!
The designs, I tell you, the designs are too complex.

No. We're lookin' at deliberate language here.
These are symbols, some kinda cryptograms.
The E.T.s are sayin' they're among us.
They're sending galactic telegrams.

I bet they're pictures models of some molecules,
or maybe mathematic fractal holograms
something our scientists haven't deciphered yet,
but need to soon. Maps or wiring diagrams… .

Schematics or hieroglyphics maybe something ancient
a language pre-dating the Egyptian's
an antediluvian or Atlantian Christmas card,
or some such bizarre transcription.

Call Scotland Yard! Gimme the F.B.I.!
Send a cryptologist to break this cyber code.
We wanna set our best minds to work out here.
It's important, not just some graffiti goad.

None of the barley's damaged. None of the heads are dead.
Maybe they're telling us to look inside
to sow the seeds we need to sow.
The millennium is here. Our history's at high tide!

These ain't intergalactic doodles on some cereal pad.
We just don't get it yet. They're saying, "Yo!
Pick up the phone! Is anyone home here
on this third stone from the sun? Hello? Hello?"

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