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There once was a man who just couldn't cry |
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He hadn't cried for years and for years |
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Napalmed babies and the movie love story |
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For instance could not produce tears |
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As a child he had cried as all children will |
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Then at some point his tear ducts ran dry |
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He grew to be a man, the feces hit the fan |
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Things got bad, but he couldn't cry |
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His dog was run over, his wife up and left him |
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And after that he got sacked from his job |
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Lost his arm in the war, was laughed at by a whore |
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Ah, but sill not a sniffle or sob |
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His novel was refused, his movie was panned |
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And his big |
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Broadway show was a flop |
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He got sent off to jail; you guessed it, no bail |
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Oh, but still not a dribble or drop |
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In jail he was beaten, bullied and buggered |
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And made to make license plates |
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Water and bread was all he was fed |
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But not once did a tear stain his face |
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Doctors were called in, scientists, too |
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Theologians were last and practically least |
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They all agreed sure enough; this was sure no cream puff |
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But in fact an insensitive beast |
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He was removed from jail and placed in a place |
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For the insensitive and the insane |
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He played lots of chess and made lots of friends |
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And he wept every time it would rain |
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Once it rained forty days and it rained forty nights |
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And he cried and he cried and he cried and he cried |
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On the forty-first day, he passed away |
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He just dehydrated and died |
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Well, he went up to heaven, located his dog |
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Not only that, but he rejoined his arm |
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Down below, all the critics, they loot it all back |
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Cancer robbed the whore of her charm |
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His ex-wife died of stretch marks, his ex-employer went broke |
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The theologians were finally found out |
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Right down to the ground, that old jail house burned down |
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The earth suffered perpetual drought |
