Franklin sang my praises of that no one can deny, To gladly accept a pardon would not be a jive lie, In the end the bald contingency had their say, Yet I am still celebrated in a very special way.

One Bunny, a hunter, several birds, and a cat, just a few of the thousand all under my hat. Known hater of carrots, though I’d chew them for jokes. Been gone since nineteen eighty nine, so I guess that’s all folks.

I’m dug by the living for the ones who can’t speak, Secrets whisper from me when the moon hangs low, Detectives disturb me for bones long forgotten, Yet once I claim you, no man ever escapes.

I toll for kings and common men, I sing at six, then noon again. I wake the world, I mourn the dead, a voice of metal, overhead.

I fall in the middle of Tyr and Thor, Odin, or Woden, I am named for. Or maybe you know me as the oldest child, In an eccentric family known for loving things grim, grotesque and despised.