They call me the sloth
Way down in the ghetto
Italian Spaghetti
Singing falsetto
Sleeping all day
Rip Van Winklin'
Spend my nights in bars
Glasses tinklin'

I'm so bad
He's so nasty
Ain't got no friends
Real outcasty
Stay out of my way
Or you'll end up a cripple
I'll take this piece of paper
And slice your nipple

They call me the sloth
Way down in the ghetto
Italian Spaghetti
Singing falsetto
Sleeping all day
Rip Van Winklin'
Spend my nights in bars
Glasses tinklin'
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Colonel Forbin stared at the
fourteen bars that stood at the end
of the cell. He ran his hand across
the cold, damp dungeon wall and
thought again about the door. He
had traveled through the door out
of necessity. Once he knew it
existed, he simply couldn't leave
it alone. Just like Wilson. Just
like Tela. Just like Errand Wolfe.
And he sat in the dungeon, and he
realized that he was back again
through the door. And through the
tiny window in the corner of his
cell, he heard the distant strains.

Errand
Errand
Errand
Errand

And from atop the mountain Icculus
looked down on all that went on
below him. And he smiled.