There is only one reason to stick around here
But I don’t know what it is, so I’ll have another beer
When I went to put my sweater on I looked at the back
There was a giant hole–I nearly had a heart attack
When I recovered I realized a moth had eaten the hole
All I could think was, “God damn his insect soul”
My mother had knitted the sweater right before she died
Every time I wore it I couldn’t help but cry
I was going to find that moth and squish it into the rug
I didn’t care how slow he died–he was just a stupid bug
I opened my closet to see if he was there
What I saw beyond the door gave me a shivery scare
There was a little bald man with my favorite cashmere sweater in his mouth
I grabbed my gun and yelled “You little bastard. You’re headed south.”
Suddenly I heard a sound like a helicopter coming at me
Moth man was was flapping his wings and trying to flee
He threw my cashmere sweater in the flower pot
I raised my gun and took a shot
I missed the moth, but blew out the window
Through it he flew into the night where the myth of the giant moth will grow
Today, I bought a bagful of wool sweaters at the Salvation Army Store
I am setting sweater-traps to even the score.
I’ve made the sweaters into IEDs.
Just one landing and he’ll become one of life’s permanent retirees