OH, BUCKWHEAT?

What's it all about, Buckwheat?
Is it just for the money we live?
What's it all about when we start to pout, Buckwheat?
Can we get back the fools gold that we give?

Or are we meant to be fools?
But I think fools are blind, Buckwheat,
Not seeing worth in people, but in stuff--
And if stuff is life's whole meaning, Buckwheat,
Then higher aspirations are just fluff.
As sure as I withstand the crassness of the elite, Buckwheat,
I know there're pearls of great price,
That reside within you, and always are you.

I believe in love, Buckwheat.
Within real Love, we all remain, Buckwheat.
Relieved of falseness and of pain -- They're shining, Buckwheat --
Precious gems, that light up with your Love
and you'll find gold every day, Buckwheat, Buckwheat.

(apologies to Joss Stone, "Alfie" lyricist. )