Our father, whom we called "Big Ted,"
spent all his life collecting thread.
One day he died, and in his will
he left his thread to brother Bill.
A subtle malaise seized my mind.
Murd'rous thought in thread entwined!
I twisted up Bill's neck with thread
and pulled it tight 'til he lay dead.
I sliced him up in several chunks,
the which I hid beneath our bunks.
I would have thought that, post decease,
he'd rest, in pieces, but in peace.
But no! He rose up from the dead,
his mind on just one thing: his thread.
He'd got from somewhere four arms more
and spun a web beneath the floor.
He pulled me deep inside his nest.
You wouldn't want to hear the rest.