The thirty men inside my jaw
That crank the midnight moon
Got lost inside a lion’s paw
Before the twelfth of noon.
The ice turned warm, the grass turned red
The hens stopped laying eggs
And women over thirty
All lost their arms and legs
The boxes broke, the sheets bunched up
Blood crusted on the spoon
And Jesus by the wishing well
Played ‘toot’ on his bassoon
We searched in every lion’s den
And found the culprit paw
That hid the thirty dirty men
Who’d lived inside my jaw
The men, put back, re-cranked the moon
The ice turned back to cold
The hens were laying eggs again
The grass turned green as mold
All women got their limbs back
And all boxes were repaired
The rumpled sheets were all picked up
And shaken out and aired
The silverware shone bright again
The whole world sighed relief
Except for Jesus, who, without his horn
Went stiff with grief.
