This pathway is doubly dangerous
That one who cuts my stitches
A tad too short
Is the same who reaches
Carelessly too close
To that dreadful corona mortis
God’s own anatomical variant
A beautiful but fearful anastomosis
A marriage of a sweet obturator
And a rather inferior epigastric
My ultimate dream
Is to broach and to ream
That sweet canal
So I ignore that fire
Set on my path
I size up the breadth and girth
Of a choice that was never fair
Whatever it takes, I swear
I won’t stumble into oblivion
Neither will I sway into varus
Until my tools are packed
And my destination reached
Mine will be a glorious tale
With an ending marked
By an exaltation of larks
Hands steady as a rock
Eyes keen as a hawk
I fear neither the dark nor the cold
I will push and I will reach
For that prize of gold
My heart will sing
When I restore with my knife
So never ever forget my name
For this will not be my last dance
In this dark pelvis of life!
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