Tonalité : Eb major
Verse 1
D
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D
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Em
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Em
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Em
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D
C
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Well,
G
F
D
I've murdered another mouse.
G
Yesterday I came out to the studio
and found the little guy kicking and squeaking,
trying to get free from the
F#m
G
plastic stick trap
F
I'd set out for him the night before,
G
carefully stocked with
a slab of chocolate.
D
G
F#m
That makes three dead mice this week,
F
all my doing.
G
I'm a fairly gentle person by nature,
but I have accrued a bit of mouse karma
F
this time around,
G
much of it unintentional,
D
the rest of it under duress.
The mice get into my studio,
G
crawl up in my cabinet
where I keep my daughter's toys,
snacks and clothes,
and then they eat her snacks and
shit all over the toys and clothes.
I don't want to kill them,
but given the choice
between me being a mouse murderer
or my daughter wearing turds and playing in poop,
I'm going to go with murder.
D
So last week after finding mice shit
G
all over her food and personal items,
D
I got out the mouse traps,
but this latest round of executions
G
has me reconsidering my method.
F#m
We used to use spring traps around here,
D
but I couldn't find any.
G
D
And while digging around in the shed
G
I found a bunch of sticky traps
I bought a long time ago.
They're your basic
D
G
flat piece of plastic
with a very,
very sticky substance covering the top.
D
What I'd forgotten about plastic traps
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F
is just how long a mouse will live on
Em
one of those things.
D
Of course, they don't just die because
they're stuck.
They get tortured.
G
They break their little legs trying
to get out.
D
They spend hours and hours
in a futile struggle
literally trying to save their lives.
Shitting all over in the process.
It's a slow demise.
I had been blissfully ignorant
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D
G
of this aspect of the sticky trap
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because in my desire to imagine
a more humane conclusion,
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G
the last two times I discovered
D
mice in sticky traps,
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D
they were already dead.
G
Like any denial addicted dick,
D
G
I guess I al lowed myself
D
to assume
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they'd just gotten stuck
D
and died right there.
Since they were already dead,
G
I was free to imagine their passing however I preferred,
seeing their little bodies all
stretched out
F#m
in the dramatic poses of their last moments.
D
G
It was as though I'd discovered
F
G
a little mouse Pompeii,
D
G
that I'd simply been
the archaeological sleuth
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G
to uncover this tragic ending,
D
G
because sometimes nature creates these
D
macabre museums,
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perfectly preserved figures
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captured in their death throes,
F#m
G
the hapless victims of larger forces.
D
G
I've heard that sometimes bodies wash up
on the shore of Lake Superior
in a wonderful condition,
save their expiration,
D
G
after years and decades
of being dead
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because they've been resting at the bottom of a cold lake,
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the world's biggest freshwater freezer.
D
But these mice
G
hadn't been buried
under cataclysmic eruption.
No romantic shipwreck.
D
I just tricked them into walking onto
G
a deadly stick pad
like any animal would when tempted with
G
the finest chocolate
Boulder Co -op has to offer.
D
F#m
I was doing what cigarette and alcohol companies do every day,
G
hypnotizing innocents
G
with the allure of sensual delights,
D
inching them out on the plank
ever closer to the final plummet
G
where they would literally fall
right out of their own bodies forever.
The difference was I was not being
paid to do it.
D
My motivation was preemptive.
G
I was killing mice in order to
prevent them
from eating my daughter's snacks,
and then shitting all over her
G
toys and clothes.
D
A more presidential
G
stance, I'd like to think.
D
I am simply eradicating those who have the
F#m
G
potential, if not the means,
to harm me or my interests.
D
I don't really care that they eat her snacks,
who can blame them?
G
F#m
There's enough to go around,
G
and I'm more than happy to share with
D
the locals.
But when you drop a deuce
G
on my baby girl's bonnet,
it's not just unsightly, it's unsanitary.
It jeopardizes her health.
D
G
Mice don't just take a dump in a
big pile and move on,
D
they ex crete a trail of brown pellets,
G
each one but bacteria and viruses
that would love nothing more
D
than to trade up to a human host.
G
Mice are notoriously
D
unresponsive
to bargaining.
G
I'd rather leave them alone.
I'd rather offer a conciliatory
treat.
Take the food,
but don't shit on my daughter's stuff.
You're not listening.
You're still shitting on...
D
Now I have to kill you.
But I'm a lazy executioner.
Lazy is cruel.
G
If I were really in contact
with the experience of the mouse,
F#m
I would only use spring traps,
G
which kill instantaneously.
F#m
But there were none to be found,
G
and rather than spend an hour
D
going to the hardware store to get some,
G
I went with what I had.
D
G
First two mice I killed
were dead when found,
but this last one, he lasted.
I couldn't bring myself
to stomp on him
knowing if I did the
dead mouse and the chocolate
F#m
G
and the entire sticky panel
D
G
would become firmly affixed to
the bottom of my foot.
D
G
Seeing the little bugger struggle,
I considered how to best dispose of him,
and wondered why I had extended so
much goddamn effort
F#m
E
to mice in my life.
D
G
Once, staying up at my brother's place
in northern Minnesota,
I was sleeping out in the wooden cabin guest
D
house
G
and was being kept awake
by a little mouse scurrying around.
I had no earplugs,
which I usually travel with,
D
and this little fucker
was hopped up on some mouse coke.
He was overactive as they come.
Annoying,
like a little four -legged crispin'
glover on amphetamines.
I kid you not.
Hours of incessant chewing, scratching, digging,
scratching, chewing.
Finally, I got up, turned on the lights,
and went to work.
This is back in the day,
G
when I didn't have a daughter.
I was a much bigger new -age pussy
D
who didn't want to kill things for sport.
So I took the only available object,
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G
a two -foot -long aluminum tube
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G
with a 6 -inch opening at both ends,
and set to trapping the mouse.
It was ridiculous.
4 o 'clock in the morning,
I was darting about
trying to capture a rodent without harming it.
D
No small task, considering the stove
and furniture in the room
obstructed every good angle.
After about 30 minutes,
F#m
G
I finally got him.
D
In a moment of fatigue,
he had stopped to rest in a corner,
and what must have seemed to
him
like the biggest silver tongue
G
he'd ever seen,
D
came plunging down from above,
G
F#m
and in a blink he was ensconced,
E
unharmed in my cylinder
F#m
of compassion.
D
Grateful, I would finally get some sleep,
I carefully took a magazine
and slid it under the tube.
G
I slowly raised the entire assembly
and made my way to the door,
proud to have taken so much time and effort
to get rid of my fel
low creature
G
D
without hurting him at all.
G
I was such a fucking awesome practitioner,
pride, pride,
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G
balancing the long tube with one hand,
G
I bumped the door open with my butt
F#m
G
and turned around to set my
diminutive captive free.
My plan was, tilt the metal tube
down toward the ground,
slide him out the far end,
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G
gently let him tumble to the ground.
In his brief disorientation,
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G
D
I would pop back inside, shut the door,
mouse on the outside,
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human on the inside,
like God intended.
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As I began to lower the tube
G
parallel to the ground,
and then a little bit lower,
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I didn't feel the mouse
sliding out of the tube,
G
D
so in the midst of the motion
I tried to help the process along
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by swinging the tube out farther,
D
give him a good launch,
G
D
but in the darkness and my sleepiness
I swung the tube a bit too hard.
C
The entire contraption
D
went flying.
For about one full second the magazine,
the metal cylinder,
and the mouse were all
in the air at the same time,
the light of the full moon
ever so briefly catching each of them,
G
a surreal vision.
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G
The moonlight re flected
off the shiny silver tube,
A
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the magazine made a fluttering sound
of a startled quail,
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G
D
and the mouse tumbled end over end in the air,
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like a little sky -diver
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embarking on a free -fall adventure.
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D
He seemed freer than ever.
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But the next thing, it all flipped.
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What were the odds?
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First the mouse hit the ground
and was mildly stunned,
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just as I'd planned.
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But then, right after him,
the razor -sharp edge
D
of the big metal tube
G
came squarely down on his neck,
like a guillotine,
and severed his little head.
G
Aghast, I kneeled down to the mouse,
D
and I nudged him with the magazine.
Nothing remained but a limp, lifeless
carcass.
G
F#m
Dead on impact, I thought to myself,
G
suddenly imagining I was a sociopathic,
zoological coroner
F#m
with multiple personality disorder,
investigating a murder I
had also committed.
Who would do such a thing?
I wondered. Years later,
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the hideous riddles still unanswered,
I tower over yet another furry victim
stretched across the super
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sticky contraption
that was his ultimate demise.
F#m
His little mousepaw,
G
only centimeters from that sweet rich
chocolate
that tempted him away from his body.
F#m
G
I bite my lower lip,
knowing somewhere,
in a grassy field,
there is a burrow of little mice children
G
and a mouse wife, wondering when Mouse
Daddy will be home with mouse dinner,
G
and I'm the one who's going to have to pick up
the goddamn miniature mouse phone
and break the news.
Hey, little fella, could I talk to your mama? What? You say she's
out looking for your mouse daddy?
Oh, and she comes home.
Tell her that her mouse spouse—that's
Right, your mouse daddy
has been brutally mouse murdered.
Sticky trap, chocolate, no suspects.
We don't know who
D
F#m
would do such a thing.
D
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