My grandfather's clock was too large for the shelf
So it stood ninety years on the floor.
It was taller by half than the old man himself,
Though it weighed not a pennyweight more.
And though years would congeal Grandpa's brain to Malt-O-Meal,
He'd one wish that would not be denied,
For his will
Said
To bury him in the clock
When the old
Man
Died.
Now Grandfather's grandfather built him the clock
And he built it like no clock before,
But the old so-and-so built it so high and wide
That we can't fit it out through the door!
So when Grandma'd been calmed, and Grandpa had been embalmed,
We discovered the clock was too wide:
But the God
Damned
Cadaver had gotten jammed,
He was stuck
In-
Side!
Now old Grandpapa's sitting there in the hallway
At 917 Cherry Lane.
And he stands, the old cuss, making faces at us
Which we try to ignore just the same.
But we still think of him as we, haggard, pale, and grim,
Stagger into the cold morning light;
'Cause at odd
Times
He's ringing the blasted chimes
Every God
Damned
Night!
So at three-twenty-two a.m.
(BING! BONG! BING! BONG!)
My God, there goes Gramps again.
(BING! BONG! BING! BONG!)
At odd
Times
He's ringing the blasted chimes
Every God
Damned
Night!