What am I doing with teacups and spoons when the call of the wild is so strong?
 Why am I eating the cake from a plate when the forest is where I belong?
 What do I need with a carpet of wool when a carpet of leaves can be had?
 And why is my face so smiley and bright when my heart is unbearably sad?
   
 The call of the wild is the sound that I hear and it's tugging and tearing at me.
 I would get up and go right this minute, but...somebody wants some more tea.
 I would fly with the birds and cry like a 'loon, run with the deer and cuddle raccoons
 And for once in my life I'd feel really in tune. 
 What the hell am I doing with teacups and spoons?

 Why don't I follow the call of the wild and go live in the bush like a sage?
 Well, dreams are for dreaming, they just don't come true,
 and I have to remember my age!
 On the damp forest floor I would creak like a door and stagger about with the chills,
 I couldn't hunt down the creatures I'd found and a mushroom or two hardly fills.

 Oh, God, if I'm good, do you think that you could,
 next time round send me down to the wild?
 Not part of the inhuman race that I know but truly a 'Mother Nature's' child?
 Well, I guess I'd be shot when some sport takes a pot, just for kicks,
 and I die 'neath the Moon.

But that's what I'd be, if I could only be free...
Ah well, pass the teacups and don't drop the spoons.