Was it born with an arrow stuck into its head?
Or did someone mean shoot it? (I hope they drop dead!)
There's a flame by its face that it swats like a fly.
But it's limbs go right through. Can't do much now but cry...
It's always confused. It can't sort out its thoughts.
If it gets too perplexed, its arms twist into knots.
It's darker than onyx or oboes or coal.
When you meet it, you might just lose all self control.
It wears a mask it can't take off.
But it still sprays blood with every cough.
Its voice sounds like music broadcast underwater.
It shows up for murders, but not for manslaughter.
It smells a lot like dried-up blood.
It's body's gross. It's filled with crud.
It went to the circus. It liked all the lights.
It ate all the tigers; some whole, some in bites.
It's soft, like a toy, and it's never unkind.
Cut it open, and you might not like what you find...
It smells like fresh blood and it floats in the air.
If it wants to befriend you, you'd better take care.
It looks like a toy, and it squeaks like one, too.
But it doesn't act like any toy you're used to...
It's cold to the touch and it hides in the dark.
It says just one thing; a quite vulgar remark.
It's too slick to grab onto, it wobbles and rolls!
Outside of this flopping, it has no real goals.
It smells like detergent but isn't as clean.
Its tastes and its hobbies, in fact: just obscene.
Is it missing its legs? Was it just born this way?
Did you know it loves tea, though? (It's home's a cafe.)
It's tail is the cap to a body that's hollow.
It hides pills in its innards with no need to swallow!
Though it seems quite naive, it's actually clever.
If you set it on fire, it smolders forever.
It's almost invisible. Only its eyes
can be seen in the dark. Walking towards them? Unwise.
Watching it struggle, I don't understand
why it doesn't try using its tail like a hand.
It's quiet; you never know when it's nearby.
It sort of just lingers there. (Please don't ask why.)
It feels soft; not like silk, but like lint or some fuzz
you'd find under your bed. But that's not all it does...
It's made of tar, and oh so sticky.
Getting out of its hug is a little bit tricky.
It floats above your bed at night,
But it won't keep you up, for it's aura's not bright.
If you grab it, it crumbles apart into hair.
If you find where it lives, you should let it stay there.
Who put all those pins in its poor little snout?
Does it matter? It won't let you pull them out...
If you chew it, it tastes just like bubble gum.
If you swallow, though, you might not like the outcome.
It's cold to the touch, and its eyes drive you crazy.
Sometimes it says words, but it's often too lazy.
It showed up at your party empty-handed.
It cannot be reprimanded.
It likes to writhe beneath lights that flicker.
If it's near you, you might feel your heart beating quicker.
When they learned what had severed the royal bloodline,
They called it their god and they built it a shrine.