Martin will talk until daylight is dim
To pass on the truths that were given to him.
Flaubert and Pooh Bear appear in his dreams.
They show him that life isn't all that it seems.

They tell him the truths he will pass on to us.
He says you should always beware of a bus
That sounds as if it's in a terrible mood.
The foul-tempered ones may regard you as food.

Birds are to blame for the weather being cold.
Tow-trucks and most traffic lights are controlled
By leprechaun kings in resplendent regalia.
An area of Ireland the size of Australia

Has been sold to someone for under ten grand.
He plans to farm ducks on his fertile new land.
Martin has recently said he's been filled in
On how ancient mariners pose as young children.

These naval commanders, their ages unknown,
Are pushed in their buggies, but when they're alone
They transmit their thoughts to some friends of their ilk
And knock back the cognac like it was just milk.

Lay-abouts lie about what they've been doing.
They spend their days thinking and drinking and chewing.
They like to chew jam and make marmalade bubbles.
Their long harmless lives are devoid of great troubles.

Rest without stress is their job's greatest perk.
They're kept very busy avoiding all work.
They'd start to feel dizzy if they did too much.
Some won't go out without taking their crutch

To use as a valid excuse to sit down.
These make-believe invalids move around town
With breath-taking speed if the need should arise,
Chasing a free Holy Grail with French fries.

But Martin has said that it's all just an act.
It's drama-free fiction that's dressed up as fact.
The truth is they meet in a warehouse at night,
An unseen display of their undoubted might.

After they've split up into hunting groups
They set foot outside with the soft tread of troops.
They try to track down deadly tigers and leopards
Who come out at night time and terrify shepherds.

These curious cats can be heard whistling tunes
While walking through woods or exploring the ruins
Of castles and churches beneath star-filled skies.
They roam around houses where strange stifled cries

Would not be surprising. These houses make people
Retreat to the safety of their church's steeple.
The leopards and tigers are drawn to these places
Where absolute darkness hides hideous faces.

The camouflaged hunters will stealthily creep
Through woodlands and fields where the cows are asleep.
The farmer who owns these oblivious cows is
Afraid of the shadows cast by the dark houses.

The hunters are scared when approaching a foe,
But still they resist the temptation to go.
The leopards and tigers will smile when surrounded,
A smile with the menace to leave a poor clown dead,

But still no one flees from the scene of the battle.
When two armies fight over borders their spat'll
Be written about in the history books.
Tomes are required to record lives of crooks.

But no one will know about leopards and tigers
And hunters who'll never seek someone to buy furs.
These creatures are rarely defeated in fights,
But sometimes they choose to retreat when their bites

Are useless, left toothless by powerful spells
Cast by magicians awoken by bells.
When leopards and tigers can't kill with their mouth
They turn into fire that quickly burns out.

They're gone when their foul-smelling smoke has dispersed.
It seems they retreat to a house that looks cursed,
And they stay inside for a week or a month,
But they can't resist being part of the hunt.

The hunters work hard just to keep them at bay.
The night work means they try to get rest by day,
Or so Martin says, but sometimes it seems
Like something created by actors in dreams.

But Martin was right about teddy bears who
Enjoy scratching itches and sniffing the glue
That's put on their eyes just to keep them in place,
Under the eyebrows stitched onto their face.

I've seen these bears scratch when they wrongly assume
That they're all alone in an attic or room.
They get great relief and release pent-up tension
By scratching in places I'd rather not mention.