ΣΕ ΜΙΑ ΧΩΡΑ ΠΟΥ ΣΥΝΗΘΙΣΕ ΝΑ ΖΕΧΝΕΙ...

Ο ΧΟΡΟΣ ΤΩΝ ΠΟΝΤΙΚΩΝ

I awoke one night with nature's call

Out of the bedroom and into the hall

Looked in the kitchen, still half asleep

My gut clenched in terror, icy and deep

Twenty some rats were out on the floor

Four on the table, and two by the door

I stared in shock while they struck up the band

Formed into lines at their caller's command

Chorus:

Round and round, the rats they danced

On tiny feet they leapt and pranced

With rodent grace and vermin skill

The dance of the rats -- what a thrill!

They wore little hats and wee little shoes

Greatcoats and dresses of green and blue

They waltzed and tangoed and polkaed with glee

Lost in their revels, they quite ignored me

Up on the table were musicians four

With soul and with skill they commanded the floor

With tiny guitars and a fiddle so small

It could only be played at a Rodentia ball

Chorus

I woke with a start, heard no music was playing

Ran to my kitchen, a-gasping and praying

No rats there to greet me, but amongst all the clutter

Was a tiny glass slipper right next to the butter.