Secret Agent Bliss

It is that which I am up to
Long stairs
Beds of grass on each
Cold hot stairwells
Me out of breath when I get to the top
Like a gazelle I hop right up to the top top

At the top top top
I walk like on a mission
I don't listen
No stimuli external
I share a drink
Or a drink is shared with me
Get up and out of there

I speak for the lynx prowling
And the bottle cap spinning
Red-white spinning top into a drain
And the neighborhood kids poking their heads down around in to see
The red-white spinning top go down around in
And that's all folks
No games and no prizes
No Chinese finger traps nor flavored powder sticks