The bear was in the shed
hidden from us,
was fed before bed
without a fuss.

Tuesday, it was me
who crossed the garden,
saw the bear, the bear saw me,
I ran home screaming.

It's the killer baloo.

Mostly shame stopped me from
crying, telling anyone
about the bear that's locked away.
Too young to know what to say.

Then one night at feeding time,
it was cold and there was wine,
someone forgot to lock the door and
left the bear wanting some more.

It's the killer baloo.

The bear broke free
and ate the family.
Asleep in our beds
it ripped off our heads.

It's the killer baloo.