My pet buzzard is an interesting pet.
He waits for me to get home from work and watches me
      with his big adoring eyes.
He picks off all the meat on my chicken bones
      and kisses me on the cheek before I go to sleep.
Sometimes his kisses make me bleed, but I don't mind
      and it seems to make him happy.
 
My pet buzzard is a thrifty pet.
      He places extra carcus meat in the icebox.
My pet buzzard is also a kind pet.
      He saves me the eyeballs for my gelatin.
I like the way they look up at me
      floating still in the ceramic container
It is for this that my pet buzzard thinks me so strange
      For there is no meat on an eye.
But it is not meat that I crave --
      I have always been somewhat of a exhibitionist!
 
My neighbor, Mrs. Greeley, doesn't like my pet.
      She calls him "filthy" and says he attracts the flies.
But my pet buzzard just waits on his perch and watches,
      as if waiting for her to die.
 
Mr. and Mrs. Greeley have many fights.
      One day I noticed blood on Mr. Greeley's knuckles.
He said that he had hurt them fixing the plumbing,
      but I know better.
I think Mr. Greeley's been mistreating his wife a bit.
      My pet buzzard thinks so also.
He watches Mr. Greeley with big adoring eyes, too.
 
One day, Mr. Greeley came from his garage
      with a bloody hatchet.
"Fixing the plumbing again?" I asked jokingly.
      My pet buzzard laughed.
            My pet buzzard has a good sense of humor.
    "My your hands are covered with blisters,
            Mr. Greeley," I said.
    "Yes," said he.
          "I've been milking the cows,
                with reverence, with reverence."
 
The next day, Oh, gloomy day,
      I noticed my pet's talons were caked with mud.
"My pet had always been such a clean pet," I thought.
      "Have you been digging?" I asked.
He said not a word -- though his eyes were of glass.
      How odd for him to look at me so,
            How odd, how odd, his eyes of glass.
 
I went to the icebox for some food to thaw,
      and dear Lord do you know what I saw?
It was Mrs. Greeley's severed head staring back at me.
      "Now who's the one drawing the flies?" thought I.
This was the reason for my pet's glassy stare.
      Now I was relieved.
He was drunk on the blood of this kill.
But where was the rest of her?
      This was only her head.
Could my pet possibly have eaten so much?
But, why?  Why not eat all of her
      if she was this satisfying?
Why?  ...Oh, my pet.
      He had saved the eyeballs for me.  For me...  For me...
These sweet adoring eyes staring at no one but me.
 
    ...And how lovely they'll look in my gelatin.

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