We skirt the farmer's fields
And creep silent in the night.
The morning sun shows off our work.
The crop circle, Student or Alien.
The crop of corn has been mutated,
from food of the mouth,
to food for the soul
The design, Student or Alien.
If we are found
Imprisonment is our fate,
But our labours are swift. We've never been caught.
Alien autopsy or community service
Leaf and stem, stalk and husk,
trampled and squashed.
The corn plants have a new use
Message from wackos or far away beings
Our work is done. The message sent.
Recall to the mother ship and home
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