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.