Foul, hideous, and horrid
Unfit for natural light.
An image, none as grisly
As the man named Simon White.

Once his heart was broken
So he kept the pieces in a box.
Tethered safely to his hip
With tight chains and key-less locks.

His mind was wont to wander
To clouds too high and skies too far.
So to keep himself grounded down to earth,
He kept his brain inside a jar.

His teeth would never smile.
Traded some and sold the others
Each to an unfamiliar home
Now all without their brothers.

Oh, his tongue was such a bore!
So he minced it to a paste.
He boiled, baked, and seasoned it
Yet still it had no taste.

He grew tired of his eyes
Looking down and looking back
So he took a brush with inked tip
And painted them pitch black.

The shrieks and wails of the passerby
He could not stand to hear.
So he melted a *** of candles
And stuffed the wax in each ear.

His face had done no wrong
But with fear it one day might,
He took a knife and chopped its nose!
Less from prudence and more from spite...