调：Eb major
Verse 1
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I've murdered another mouse.
and found the little guy kicking and squeaking,
trying to get free from the
a slab of chocolate.
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F#m
That makes three dead mice this week,
but I have accrued a bit of mouse karma
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much of it unintentional,
The mice get into my studio,
where I keep my daughter's toys,
snacks and clothes,
and then they eat her snacks and
shit all over the toys and clothes.
I don't want to kill them,
but given the choice
between me being a mouse murderer
or my daughter wearing turds and playing in poop,
I'm going to go with murder.
but this latest round of executions
I bought a long time ago.
They're your basic
with a very,
very sticky substance covering the top.
they're stuck.
They get tortured.
to get out.
in a futile struggle
literally trying to save their lives.
Shitting all over in the process.
It's a slow demise.
I had been blissfully ignorant
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of this aspect of the sticky trap
a more humane conclusion,
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to assume
Since they were already dead,
seeing their little bodies all
stretched out
the archaeological sleuth
F#m
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the hapless victims of larger forces.
on the shore of Lake Superior
in a wonderful condition,
save their expiration,
of being dead
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hadn't been buried
under cataclysmic eruption.
No romantic shipwreck.
like any animal would when tempted with
Boulder Co -op has to offer.
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F#m
I was doing what cigarette and alcohol companies do every day,
ever closer to the final plummet
right out of their own bodies forever.
The difference was I was not being
paid to do it.
prevent them
from eating my daughter's snacks,
and then shitting all over her
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toys and clothes.
to harm me or my interests.
who can blame them?
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the locals.
But when you drop a deuce
it's not just unsightly, it's unsanitary.
It jeopardizes her health.
big pile and move on,
that would love nothing more
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unresponsive
to bargaining.
I'd rather offer a conciliatory
treat.
Take the food,
but don't shit on my daughter's stuff.
You're not listening.
You're still shitting on...
But I'm a lazy executioner.
Lazy is cruel.
with the experience of the mouse,
were dead when found,
but this last one, he lasted.
I couldn't bring myself
to stomp on him
knowing if I did the
dead mouse and the chocolate
the bottom of my foot.
I considered how to best dispose of him,
and wondered why I had extended so
much goddamn effort
in northern Minnesota,
I was sleeping out in the wooden cabin guest
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house
by a little mouse scurrying around.
I had no earplugs,
which I usually travel with,
was hopped up on some mouse coke.
He was overactive as they come.
Annoying,
like a little four -legged crispin'
glover on amphetamines.
I kid you not.
Hours of incessant chewing, scratching, digging,
scratching, chewing.
Finally, I got up, turned on the lights,
and went to work.
This is back in the day,
I was a much bigger new -age pussy
So I took the only available object,
and set to trapping the mouse.
It was ridiculous.
4 o 'clock in the morning,
I was darting about
trying to capture a rodent without harming it.
and furniture in the room
obstructed every good angle.
After about 30 minutes,
he had stopped to rest in a corner,
and what must have seemed to
him
like the biggest silver tongue
F#m
of compassion.
I carefully took a magazine
and slid it under the tube.
and made my way to the door,
proud to have taken so much time and effort
to get rid of my fel
low creature
pride, pride,
diminutive captive free.
My plan was, tilt the metal tube
down toward the ground,
slide him out the far end,
In his brief disorientation,
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I would pop back inside, shut the door,
mouse on the outside,
like God intended.
and then a little bit lower,
sliding out of the tube,
I tried to help the process along
I swung the tube a bit too hard.
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went flying.
For about one full second the magazine,
the metal cylinder,
and the mouse were all
in the air at the same time,
the light of the full moon
ever so briefly catching each of them,
off the shiny silver tube,
of a startled quail,
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and the mouse tumbled end over end in the air,
and was mildly stunned,
the razor -sharp edge
like a guillotine,
and severed his little head.
Nothing remained but a limp, lifeless
carcass.
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F#m
Dead on impact, I thought to myself,
zoological coroner
investigating a murder I
had also committed.
Who would do such a thing?
I wondered. Years later,
I tower over yet another furry victim
stretched across the super
that was his ultimate demise.
chocolate
that tempted him away from his body.
knowing somewhere,
in a grassy field,
there is a burrow of little mice children
Daddy will be home with mouse dinner,
the goddamn miniature mouse phone
and break the news.
Hey, little fella, could I talk to your mama? What? You say she's
out looking for your mouse daddy?
Oh, and she comes home.
Tell her that her mouse spouse—that's
Right, your mouse daddy
has been brutally mouse murdered.
Sticky trap, chocolate, no suspects.
We don't know who
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