Pickles at dawn, pickles at dawn. 

Don't let your father draw pickles at dawn.

Mustard Pickle is on the floor,

The Fish-Judge throws him smirks.

Their fruit is growing tentacles

And squeezes 'till it hurts.

The fruit unzips old onion skins

To bare the rotten flesh.

She sprays sour wounds with vinegar

To clothe the naked smell. 

The fruit then puts on hy...

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You'll often see them running

and chasing across the plains,

a rabbit skipping and laughing

at an eagle, in great pains.

But why's the eagle running,

surely he can fly?

Sadly he’s afraid of heights

and frightened he may die.

An eagle that can't fly,

well surely that's not right,

it's just like having an owl

who won't come out at night.

But then on...

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