Lyrics:

Many a hand has scaled the grand,
old face of the Plateau.
Some belong to strangers,
some to folks you know.
Holy ghosts and talk show hosts
are planted in the sand.
To beautify the Foothills,
to shake the many hands.

There's 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're finished with the mop,
then you can stop, an look at what you've done.
The plateau's clean,
no dirt to be seen.
And the work it took was fun.

(Chorus)

Well the many hands began to scan,
around for the next plateau.
Some said it was in Greenland,
some said Mexico.
Some decided that it was nowhere,
except for where they stood.
But those were all just guesses.
Wouldn't help you if they could.