But take them out, I can't
'Cause when I try to dump them
I hear their morbid chant
"We're mice inside your oven mitt
And here's where we belong
If you evict us, all the world
Will crumble, rot and wrong.
The trees will melt, the dust will cry
The plants will wring and coil
The air will stench, the fur will shrink
The ponds will seethe and boil.
Black-putrid will be mothers milk
Choked dead the bluebirds' song
Sulfuric smoke, the once-pure air
The winter ten months long.
The earth will flood, then shrink and starve
From never-ending drought
So keep us in your oven mitt
And do not dump us out.”
