Beware, beware, that which would cling
More tightly than a wedding ring
For theres no duty more consuming,
Than to care for a childs fuming.
For the unenlightened, heres a tale,
Of a poor man forced across the Veil.
Japans the site of this fatal mistake,
In Tokushima, for clearness sake.
A man named Tai hiked over the hills,
While trying to run from all of his bills.
For, you see, Tai was down on his luck,
Hed no coin, nor job, he was well stuck!
His hens brought him no eggs each day,
While children nastily called him Hen-Tai!
He kept borrowing food, pathetic but true,
Then his time ran out; his payment was due.
And so he ran, as quick as he might,
And climbed over those fateful heights.
In the mountain, he heard a great wail,
That echoed endlessly, without fail
And he saw it, on its back, on a stone,
A small baby, struggling all alone.
Thus he felt a most unusual bliss,
That of Responsibilitys kiss.
But what he knows not: his fate has a bend!
A road thatll lead to his premature end!
For that child is not as it seems,
For its eyes hold nothing in their gleam.
So let me tell you what Tai knows not:
The monstrous nature of that little tot!
Its a bakemono! A fearsome beast,
Thats lays its haunts right in the East!
Konaki-jijī, thats what its called:
See its face, then be deeply appalled!
While its bodys a child, its head differs!
Hidden behind hands, an old man sniggers!
Let us return to our witless victim,
Let us watch Tai feel light, and listen
As he approaches the turning infant,
In his mind, hes plotting an instant
Where the baby will grow under his care,
To a loving son; its only fair!
But deep in his heart, he knows what he wants:
A person to earn him money, and lots!
Finally, he stands before the kid,
Picking it up, he starts to comfort it.
Then, in his arms, a crippling force:
Is it Responsibilitys remorse?
No! Its the child, it grows more and more!
It grows and makes Tais arms quite sore!
A hundred kilos, two hundred on that-
The bakemono crushed him with a splat!
So ends the life of the unfortunate Tai,
Whose flesh is picked, none left for the flies,
Whose bones are now Konaki-jijīs toys,
As it plots its small, unusual ploys.
And so ends the tale of he who is tricked,
By Responsibilitys random pick
For to accept its calling is to be,
Crushed by a three-hundred kilo baby!