it's a damned of a lie,
and a dull one at that,
to say that Misses Buttonbaum
Died because of her cat...

why it's plain to see,
Just who caused such a horror,
Twas' her husband, Sidmund,
Who made the decision to floor her..

For you could see him,
Strolling the garden he helped to grow,
but long now he's trotted, and
He's traveled so slow

Only a fool could ignore,
The aura of his eyes glow,
And act like the "trouble"
Was nothing possible to know...

I say it again,
I've seen it coming,
At pace of a marching boy
Who's stands in front drumming

Slowly, slowyly
I watched it approach
Did I say anything,
No no, not this lonesome roach

For I never seek interest
I stay locked inside my room
But I laugh at the thought
of someone's own gruesome doom

Like a school boy for a girl
I idolized the Buttonbaum event
Watching daily for even the slightest
Of the Mister's attempt to "vent"

Nawing at my mind
Like a cat for a yarn ball
I could not help but let myself
Scratch the happenings in my wall

Though now I can not satisfy
the inkling of an itch
I feel that no nails
is but a price, or a stitch

it will not keep me
from seeing this show
no no no, this is an event
perhaps that only I will know!

Oh here it came,
The fist with the knife
Mr. Buttonbaum swang
And then murdered his wife!

The blood rain like
God's forty day flood
Then grew hard, to chips
of solid, crimson mud

Oh and then came his,
He took his own time,
Minute by minute,
He let the rope climb

Oh and his was much worse
Just like his wife
For he hung himself high,
There ends his life

Hanging from a fan
Above the remains
Of where our story
Started out sane

But little did you know
Just what would unfold
Amongst the lines
Of this story I've told

I sincerely hope
You have a great, fine day
Please don't become
another story for me to say...

Or maybe you should....