Next to the bones I wear the teeth,
From many curious animals I meet,
Who (before introductions) were going to eat,
Of the fleshy tender meat,
That comprises my hands, body and feet.
But don’t you worry I stopped them friend,
They did not get me in the end.
After a discussion they would tend,
To understand my position.

Between the worlds of real and not,
Attempting to figure out my lot,
Before I die and start to rot,
Feeling ever trapped and caught,
A tooth they’d give me for good luck,
Before returning to the muck,
Thinking oh…the poor old shmuck.