Fortune Cookie Dinner

Here comes Cabot
 Gloop Glop Gloop Glop
 And he's got a big idea
 It was yesterday when
 He saw the children reading fortunes in the park
 One cookie, one fortune cookie
 Could change a life he bets
 He bets
 And his hand disappears into his magic pocket
 The bum buys plane tickets galore
 Sends one to you, I got one too because
 It was several months back
 When he spun the phone book and whack
 He found your name
 The fortune dinner, the one cookie dinner
 Why did I come here?
 Why did I?
 The old god doesn't know who he is
 He thinks the pantheon went down with Valhalla
 He comes waddling down some old hill
 Looking for a pickaxe and a goat named Bill
 You could show him the deity's address book
 You could show him his name on page five
 But the old god doesn't know who he is
 Thinks he's a plowman from 1809
 Here comes Cabot's suit
 Slipping off the hanger onto his arm
 He hunted down this suit for many months
 Rejecting every good one
 Then finally came along the damask linen
 The finest damask linen
 The finest suit in the world
 With the finest face of a man
 Shining from the collar
 And all for the cookie, all for the dinner
 And no one knows where this man is from
 There's a single plate at each setting
 And a single fortune cookie
 One chance to have life change
 Just two or three words
 Cabot breaks his cookie
 And everyone else breaks theirs
 "Damask linen" he reads
 The fabric of his suit
 He looks at the ceiling and chuckles
 At such a sharp coincidence
 But then his face turns with the realization
 His hands shake with the truth
 Cabot stands up and runs
 Cabot has recalled
 Cabot has remembered who he is
 But then he forgets
 The old god doesn't know who he is
 He thinks the pantheon went down with Valhalla
 He comes waddling down some old hill
 Looking for a pickaxe and a goat named Bill
 You could show him the deity's address book
 You could show him his name on page five
 But the old god doesn't know who he is
 Thinks he's a plowman from 1809
 The old god doesn't know who he is
 He's on the street in his platypus clothes
 He wears paper plates on his feet
 Because they're good for skidding in snow
 He thinks he's one of the kids in the park
 He thinks he's you or the guy in the store
 The old god doesn't know who he is
 And the busy worlds identity shines