There was a dead rat nBeneath the windows of my buildingnOf my building, of my buildingnAnd the children would point sticks at it nAnd pokenAnd when it got itselfnAll frozen-dead the night beforenWhile Mr. Jones and Miss Gonzales were outnHaving a good smoke, having a good smokenOh, Charlie with the walkernWas out thinking in Milwaukee nAs he downed another thirty-century beer nAnd so he hadn’t noted nThat the cold winds were the closestnAnd so he hadn’t noticednThat the night was drawing nearnBut what’s one less in a world of so many nWhen only mushroom clouds can leave ripples on our soulsnWhat’s one less?nEither way, we got a messnAnd no one hears the callnAnymore, anymore, anymore, anymorenThere was a dead ratnBeneath the windows of my buildingnOf my building, of my buildingnAnd the children would point sticks at itnAnd pokenAnd when it got itself nAll frozen-dead the night beforenWhile Mr. Jones and Miss Gonzales were out nHaving a good smokenHaving a good smoke