Now that I've used up all my ideas
Here in my little house by the sea
I search for a usable memory but [bad word] to me

In grade one, my teacher could do embalming
She'd stuff the bodies of dead little birds
She told us if ever we found one, just to bring it to her

And in the science room was an iguana
It lay very still in its cage
And we'd feed him living flies

Then she'd read the old testament to us
But first she'd remind us the stories were [bad word] 
And we'd hear of locusts and plagues and the tortures they knew

And in the science room was an iguana
I remember it now in my house by the seaside
Swatting flies