THESEUS:

Gather around!
Give me your ear.
And I’ll tell you a story
So bloody and gory,
You won’t fall asleep for days!
(At least, not in your bed . . .)

I was traveling down the road to Athens.
The trip had already been horribly long
And my feet were beginning to hurt
From the rocks and the gravel.

I was hoping to finally get to Athens.
But sadly, the sun was beginning to set
And the forest was getting too dark
For a person to travel.

But just around the bend I met a man,
And he said, “Hello!”

“My name is Procrustes!
(And you look tired!)
Do you need a place to stay?

“I have a room!
Kick off your shoes!
We’ll share a meal!
We’ll have some booze!
But best of all . . .

“I have a wonderful,
Comf’table,
Marvelous,
Glorious
Bed!

And you . . .
. . . will fit perfectly in it!”

Now, while I had been on the road to Athens,
I had the good fortune of meeting a girl
Who had told me she thought I’d do well
To have some kind of warning.

She had told me that on the road to Athens,
There lived in a house a peculiar old man
Who would welcome in guests,
But they never survived until morning.

For when they went to lay down in his bed . . .

The cuffs clicked
And the trap snapped shut,
Pinning them in bed
While the ropes stretched
And the chains pulled taut,
Stretching out their limbs.
Then Procrustes would enter
And walk to the pulleys
And pull . . .

And tendons would snap
While the guests lay there screaming
And writhing in pain
While their cartilage tore!

But not just content
To pull limbs from their sockets,
Procrustes did more . . .

With a hammer,
He pounded their limbs
And he shattered their bones
And he flattened their flesh
‘Til the bed fin’lly fit!

But I knew that that wouldn’t be me,
For you see,
I was tall . . .

And Procrustes had two beds.
And one was smaller.
So when taller guests lay down . . .

And the cuffs clicked
And the trap snapped shut,
Pinning them in bed,
And the ropes stretched
And the chains pulled taut,
Stretching out their limbs.
Then Procrustes would enter
Dramatic’lly drawing his sword . . .

And he’d chop off their toes
And he’d hack off their fingers
And saw off their feet
Which would fall to the floor!

And while spurts of blood arced
From the stubs of their ankles,
Procrustes did more . . .

With a hatchet,
He severed their limbs
And he splintered their bones
And he sliced off their flesh
‘Til the bed fin’lly fit!

But I knew that that wouldn’t be me,
For you see,
I’d been warned . . .

So I did it to him!