Braid your cheeks into your chin. Stretch your skull, then make a grin
Take an ear and pleat it down. Reverse your lips now.
Rotate your nose, then pleat the eyes. Your entire head must be this size.
Loop your ear around your tongue. Take a look you're almost done.
The skin is merely clay. To fold and display.
Observe my facial disarray. Observe my facial disarray.
An ancient art now born anew. Convert my face and flesh askew.
Behold my grimace, it's a boat. I'm trying not to gloat.
The biggest grin I correlate. To separate this un-headlike shape.
Potato-san has not a clue. For I can fold my face like goo.
My art remains unknown. As I twist my soggy bones.
I hide my drooping face in shame. I hide my drooping face in shame.
Someone once told me is. I keep making that face. It's going to stay that way.
No one understands. Why do people shriek when. They see my face folding.
No one understands me.
Once was a man who lived on that hill. Made different faces every day.
People did fear but still he ignored. The warnings of the town folklore.
Late in the night came a terrible moan. And he came lurching down the hill.
To his dismay, his face stayed that way. And he was never seen again.