I was young, I was just like you, with legs tangled in the inside of my shoes. When daddy disappeared, my mama started drinking, then she ran a stop sign, and cracked a bar leak, and she was killed in the crash, and also my legs got all chewed up, just like scrambled eggs. One day watching number jacks near our little cabin, I met up with one who said he had been lonely until he saw my face. He was tall and made me feel awful safe, he said that I reminded him of his mama, and his name was Too Tall Texas Time, and yee-hoo! After granny died, we got married, and I was deeply in love with that giant guy. Our lives were sweet, and our roses were red, and soon we had us a baby boy named Ted. But two bad things happened before too long, that turned my rightness into wrong. At first it was only a wrinkle or two, but soon my skin resembled prunes, but that was nothing next to the tree that crushed poor Tommy as he rescued me. I wish that I had died instead, and maybe I would have, except for my Ted. I was so far down, and near to death, that I had to go up just to be depressed. Ted and me passed a county fair, and I dived on in, in spite of all the stares. At first it was nice to see Ted having fun, but I never expected to feel so stunned, as I did right after both of us went to see some people freaks inside of a tent. They were scraps of clay, banded together like grandma's quilts, and after that I never went back to that cabin, but found a new home, where we was just either way a tall Texan fold. Now I'm lobbying the school, and I hope that I entertain all you wonderful folks. I really don't have much left to say. Except to watch him for what you throw away, cause even a slimy and crusty old sock can knock out a crook, if you fill it with rocks. Bye bye, and don't forget to say, Timber! I'd like to tell you a story. It's all about a poor, sad little boy. And the little boy always said that the first thing he ever remembered seeing was a pair of cowboy boots. The next thing he remembered was those boots that somehow stretched upwards on legs into a vast infinity attached to the rest of his...FATHER! What the little boy remembered next was a hand, a hand quickly coming down out of that vast beyond and hitting him on the head. Although the boy quickly learned to despise his giant FATHER, there was one thing about him that he liked, in spite of its cold-hearted appearance. It was his father's butterfly collection. You see, the little boy loved all things of beauty and he felt that ugliness was an indication of death. He was three years old when he committed his first act of ugly liberation. Now see, this was the process that he used to free pain and ugliness that was trapped inside of living creatures. He was just playing around his mother's little cabin when he found a baby bird struggling on the ground. A sharp bone from his badly broken wing was protruding out through his eye and it was the ugliest thing that the little boy had ever seen. He ran over and he grabbed a big rock and he ran back and he just... Christ, I am a bliss creature! Afterwards, when he and his father had left their little cabin in the woods, he began to encounter many, many more creatures in pain and, of course, the number of ugly liberations dramatically increased. In an ironic memorial to his despised and departed father, he began to collect skin and bone and bits of hair from these incidents and he formed them to look like butterflies. In emotional depth, the little boy's hatred of his father was matched only by a strong, deep and powerful love for his mother. For even though she was a circus freak, he saw inside of her a beauty that was so strong it was unmatched in his detached view of the world. I still see that little boy around here sometimes and he frightens me. He deeply frightens me. But I don't think you have anything to worry about. He tells me that he still collects butterflies though. Sleep, loser, sleep. Sleep, loser, sleep. Ugliness will leave you when you sleep, loser, sleep. Just release and gently fall into a dark and endless hall. Delicious death is waiting all around you. Of this warm and fuzzy kind of death, will gently hold you to its breast, touch you in its tenderness, and drown you. So, sleep, loser, sleep. Sleep, loser, sleep. Ugliness will leave you when you sleep, loser, sleep.