Craqueodoom

The Crankadox leaned o'er the edge of the moon         And wistfully gazed on the sea     Where the Gryxabodill madly whistled a tune         To the air of "Ti-fol-de-ding-dee."     The quavering shriek of the Fly-up-the-creek         Was fitfully wafted afar     To the Queen of the Wunks as she powdered her cheek         With the pulverized rays of a star.     The Gool closed his ear on the voice of the Grig,         And his heart it grew heavy as lead     As he marked the Baldekin adjusting his wing         On the opposite side of his head,     And the air it grew chill as the Gryxabodill         Raised his dank, dripping fins to the skies,     And plead with the Plunk for the use of her bill         To pick the tears out of his eyes.     The ghost of the Zhack flitted by in a trance,         And the Squidjum hid under a tub     As he heard the loud hooves of the Hooken advance         With a rub-a-dub - dub-a-dub - dub!     And the Crankadox cried, as he lay down and died,         "My fate there is none to bewail,"     While the Queen of the Wunks drifted over the tide         With a long piece of crape to her tail.