|a man is walking down the street
when who should fate chance him to meet?
but a smaller man of ratlike face
and, seeing that this is the case
he laughs and jeers at ratlike things
whereupon the other sings:
i have an axe, and it can cut
an object like: a halibut
i swing it - swish! - and when it's sliced
the wood's all chopped and carrots diced.
it's famous and it's very old
- my axe of wood and steel cold -
way back when old Troy was sacked
poor Paris had his body hacked
by my axe, my very axe
and that's no lie! that's just the facts
(although, in truth, it must be said
rust meant i had to change the head
the handle, too, gave way to rot
but 'tis the axe of fame - i kid you not!)
|i sling it through the air. it sings|
of dark and awful and bloody things
it sometimes tells me what to do
to go out and find one or two
alone, unloved and worthless scum
and whisper, "there's no place to run!"
i smash it - crash! and when it's hacked
the flesh's all mashed and bones all cracked.
(it makes me groan, and tense, and slaver
as i pound that warm cadaver)
now you may laugh - what the heck!
just you watch your precious neck
or you may wake up in your bed
with skull cleaved wide to find - you're dead!
your severed limbs stacked on the ground
and slimy entrails strewn around
the man, chastised, went on his way
and laughed no more, and lives this day.
now there's a lesson to be had:
it's - don't mock strangers, they might be mad.