In a response to another piece here, metal mom wrote like this



And who could possibly avoid firing off on all six cylinders at the very thought?
Besides, I haven't had anything fun happen to anyone in a piece of lyrics for a long time.
Just a quick twenty-minute piece, and there is no consistent meter but there is a basic umpty-umpty rythm. Don't think of it so much a poem as simply a nice little fairytale with some thought given to sentence construction.


Little squirrel Twilly lived in a tree
All summer long he worked very hard
To prepare his cosy home with tasty nuts
To live comfortably through a long and hostile winter
For such was the season right between autumn and spring
Well known to be in the woods of this particular tree

Winter came with howling wind and snow
But little Twilly was happy in his tree
With all the nuts he gathered all was right in the world
Till the day he returned from a trek and found that
All his nuts had been stolen, gone to never-never
Leaving Twilly angry and with naught but cold
To sooth a rumbling tummy

Much did he search and much did he find
But in the case of something to eat
He might as well have been blind
At long last he could merely hang on a branch
Like a damp rag on the cloth line of dispair
Feeling so sad that life was coming to an end
And never more would he
Get the chance to raid a human's picnic
Or snatch away a young dove's hatchling
And from the void he was becoming
Came a single shriek to tell the world
A matter of decency is what I will call
The fact that I do not spell out
Exactly how that sound vibrated around the woods

Johny the hunter he was a-stalking
A deer he had shot, the red trail was easy to follow
When from afar he heard the voice of a woman
Calling in the deepest of fear, yes, and anguish
So Johny discarded his catch and went to assist
The unknown fair maiden so obviously placed in distress

He needn't run along till he came to a glen
A single tree occupied its middle ground
Naught of the victim no not a trace could he see
And neither did he the branch under his foot
Which felled him to the ground causing the bow in his hands
To whack hard up his crotch

"Aargh my nuts" Johny called out
Striking with greedsparking force
Into a certain squirrel's hunger delusions
A matter of decency is what I will call
The fact that I do not spell out
No, let's leave it at that

And then little Twilly, felt a lot stronger
An interesting turn, if Darwin's got anything to shout about
Yes then little Twilly, his thoughts ran like so
Here comes many a hunter, and can I do one girlish scream
I'm assured I could produce them by a factor of two
A matter of decency is what I will call
The fact that I do not spell out
Why little Twilly, never went hungry again

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The things I inspire. It was a bit rough around the edges on the first read, but I got the picture. Lots of them in fact.
Oh, how I loved the lines--
"At long last he could merely hang on a branch
Like a damp rag on the cloth line of dispair"

Are you adding this to any of your shows eventually? It would make a good folksy kind of thing. Very amusing.

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