A Sweet Little Ditty

27 11 2008

One of the great things about writing is that I run into all sorts of words I don’t know how to spell, like ditty. Did I spell that right?

Well, in the course of formulating my entry on the custom of embalming dead bodies, I ran across a website called the Modern Embalmer. Yeah, wow! But it had these song lyrics on the home page, meant to be sung to the tune of The Hills Are Alive from The Sound of Music. Maybe this will be one of those brain worms that you walk around humming and can’t get out of your head. If this doesn’t make you laugh, then I simply cannot fathom what will.

My lungs are inflamed with The Fumes of Form-alin
With a stench we have smelled for a hundred years
My lungs gasp for breath at The Fumes of Form-alin
My eyes itch and burn and then comes the tears

My lungs want to breathe some fresh mountain air
That so gently blows through the trees
My heart palpitates and my sinuses ache
And I can’t stop the sneeze
To breathe through my nose very normally
And just be cancer-free
To breathe and not gasp, like someone who is allergy-free

I turn on the fan, but the stench it lingers
I know I will breathe what I’ve breathed before
My lungs will be cursed
With The Fumes of Form-alin
And I’ll gasp once more




One response

4 12 2008

So true, and here’s some really, really obscure trivia that’s almost related: I recently wrote about a new liquid they are using to restore fingerprints on folks who passed away, well, long ago. It isn’t volatile so it can be heated with no fumes….or explosions. It was used to identify what’s thought to be the oldest previously unidentified remains, a 50-plus year old hand from an Alaska airplane wreck. That’s not as poetic, though.

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