Raiding my old archive of Unfinished Junk, found this grotesque poem and fixed it up some. It’s a song for grotty elves in cheap taverns.

To be sung while drunk.

Jack-in-the-brain can hardly explain
The mush that is in his maw.
While chewing the fat of a fricasseed rat,
He choked on a claw in his craw.

Poor old Jack, he can never come back.
His fate it was thusly written and wrote.
And the lesson shall be, for those who can see,
Give pause when there’s claws in your throat.

Jack-in-the-brain, he was a terrible pain.
But now he’s a carcass decomposing.
Because of his snack all that’s left of poor Jack
Is this crummy song I am so far composing.

Jack-in-the-brain could hardly explain
The mysteries of time and space.
But he could determine he craved to eat vermin
Who around the floorboards did race.

Jack’s appetite wrong makes a terrible song
On the tapestry of life he’s a stain.
Such gross appetite makes us vomit on sight,
To eat vermin refrain, don’t be Jack-in-the-brain.