Skeleton bones floating in the domed ceiling
Like a storm they morphed and formed
Into a regiment, strut, strut
Turned into a run like the camels racing
And upward they flew, to somewhere unknown
Kicking a nicotine habit and replacing it with
A penchant for picking out perfect air freshners
The getaway car got a flat tire
After running over the rubber chicken
The turncoats turned their horned ears
And raised their muskets high
The hill glared down upon the fallen men
With a grievous demeanor it leared
Onward and upward! Fix bayonets!
The men they cried and then they died
Like locusts in the nest.