Behold!—at last, we've become
nothing short of
completely astounding
bands of nightly-performing skeleton ghosts!
Once we were
bored, boring, mortal,
annoyingly hungry, unfathomably
tired, like you were. Then we got tar-
black from caking
our gross earthly skin and oily hair in napalm,
bathing in alkali, and setting
the whole situation on fire.
And now—shucks, we're so much
lighter, quicker, and far superior
entertainers! Again
and again and again
and again, away we go in time! Dancing
to the tune
of spooky carnival music, and raking
our dry bones
over those hot fat coals
that formed
in the places where our melting flesh landed.
And we happen to think
that it makes
a pretty good routine—except,
well, now we've got nothing else to do
but keep putting on
show
after show
after show after show,
usually just for the rest of the crew—who,
thing is,
don't seem too inspired by the whole fuss,
probably
because they're equally disinterested,
seeing as
they're just as unimpressive-
ly dead.
