The orphans are hungry, the weeds should be picked
The clock on the wall ticks its third-to-last tick
I can’t find my suitcase, my pitbull is ill
It's cloudy and damp and the air has a chill
I’m nervous; I chew on my lips ‘til they’re bleeding
The orphans are pounding, demanding their feeding
The office is locked, but quite soon they’ll break through
They shout, “Give us our crackers and hot carrot stew!”
“Pick the weeds and eat those!” I say. “I’m too upset
To feed orphans. So the weeds’ all’s the dinner you’ll get!”
But the orphans break in, and one carries a brick
The clock on the wall ticks its third-to-last tick
He beats in my brains and he leaves me for dead
My sick pitbull whines, licks the blood from my head
They break into the pantry, steal chocolates and fruits
They break into my closet, try on my best suits
“Call the doctor!” I gasp to one orphan—quite young
Who stands still, watching Spark lick my wounds with his tongue
“I will call,” says the child. “Please don’t die.” (I feel flattered).
The ambulance comes and the orphan boys scattered
I'm taken to hospital, into E.R.
I wake up two hours later; my scalp has a scar
And my hospital gown has a pattern of stripes
At the window, the orphans shake long metal pipes,
And they’re chanting, “You bastard! You give us our
stew!”
And I’m sweating, lip-biting, don’t know what to do
So I think of the weeds that have grown in the grass
But the orphans break in, they have smashed through the glass
They’re about to attack, when ol’ Sparky appears
And he’s snarling so vicious it vibrates his ears
With his razor sharp teeth he bites ankles and shins
The orphans, scared shitless, leap out of their skins
They escape through the window, and never come back
And Sparky curls up, warm and proud, on my lap
“Oh, sweet Spark, you got better!” I say, “You’re not sick!”
And the clock on the wall ticks its third-to-last tick.
And the clock on the wall ticks its third-to-last tick.
