Rusty's got the blues Rusty’s having a hard time getting out of the sack. It's tough to stick your neck out day after day, straighten your comb and face a fourth wall of kids, eyelids crusty with sleep, breath milky from Lucky Charms. Those kids look up, waaaay up, to him -- the cock of the walk of state TV. Standing shoulder to shoulder with a giant and giraffe. The Brothers Grimm meet Chicken Licken. No one listens when he says the sky feels like it's falling. Inside that dark marsupial pouch, he languishes, no longer calls the dawn - a small revolt against the hand fate’s dealt him. But who is Rusty kidding? One trill of the flute from the Friendly one, and he pops up. A Jack, a weasel circling the mulberry bush, and day after day the golden crank winds round.