Surgery war is the best defense. So say the brilliant and so say the dense. Surgery war is the best attack. So say the white and so say the black. Surgery war is the way to go. So say the high and so say the low. Surgery war is where you must be. So say the stayers and so those who flee.
If surgery war could make you a hammer, if surgery war a baseball bat to hammer quite flat a cardboard rat. If surgery war could make you a bomb to blow up upon your old roommate Ron. If surgery war could turn you to army, it might just be smarmy, but wouldn’t be blarney. If surgery war would make you a strike, whether they do not or like, from a copter or bike.
The surgeons work their war business way and do not say hey, but just work away. They cut and they stab and prevent him from girl and they add so much steel do you swear it for real.
Cyclops rides up and down the surgery assembly line, and isn’t it fine to feel them deliver each curve and each line so you conquer by sign. They take you and twist you and hurly burly bush you , and make you a weapon as sharp as a dagger.
Whether a man or maid, they made him. Whether was free or paid, he paid them. They made him and he paid them so the town would not dismayed them, and he left there and he came here and he’s what could make afraid them.
Could a post-op Cyclops, could a plastic surgery Cyclops, could a post surgery war Cyclops make his way back to Star Town, could he find his way on the map of the world tho his body be unfinished, tho his mind be twirled.
Could Cyclops our Cyclops, renewed as a baseball bat of flesh, would you think that he’s a dish, would you look at him and blush.
Could a Cyclops of such tall stature be considered old and mature, would you think about the rapture if you saw him standing there.
With a thud and a crud and a ruddy rud rud, comes the red hammer Cyclops down the streets of the town. He pulls the sunset with him, like his overcoat of night, and he’s ready for the fighting and he’s going to punch some lights.
Scrunchyface the Megalorapter is giant cardboard with seeing eyes and paid-for spies. Willie the Lizard actually crossed some borders and took the car board orders, and he and his Spies were the first to report on the gigantic baseball bat with less than ten eyes, and that’s a surprise.
“A post surgery baseball bat approaches,” said the Lizard and the Willie and the Spies, down on their haunches.
“Cyclops must be trying something. I wonder what it could be,” said Scruncyface the Megalorapter as if he hadn’t seen such things on his TV spy mind, and didn’t know how to act if that one called “Action.”
And Cyclops had his own giant flesh baseball bat song, and he sang it out of key, but it still caught my fancy.
Take me out
To the whipping ball game
Take me out
Where there’s something to maim
Take me out
As I swing thru the air
If I hit something
I think you should care
And he sang it like a baseball bat of flesh with extraordinary resonance and some backpedaling blue notes.
“Look at that! Look at that! It’s a giant baseball bat!” said a few of the townies as Cyclops got to the first ring road.
“Hit a home run, Cyclops,” Lon Lonson said when he saw who the baseball bat was instead.
And from the mouth of Squirts: “Make sure it hurts!”
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