THE BELLS by Edgar Allan Poe                      THE BALLS by Nachum Schoffman

Hear the sledges with the bells --                            Feel the crawling of the balls --
Silver bells!                                                            Itching balls!
What a world of merriment their melody foretells!      What a world of agony their prickling recalls!
How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,                                 How they tingle, tingle, tingle,
In the icy air of night!                                              In the darkness of the night!
While the stars that oversprinkle                             As each hair begins to tickle
All the heavens seem to twinkle                              And each fold begins to prickle,
With a crystalline delight;                                       First the left one, then the right;
Keeping time, time, time,                                       Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,                                        In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells          To the awful inflammation that so torturingly 
From the bells, bells, bells, bells,                            Through the balls, balls, balls, balls,
Bells, bells, bells --                                                Balls, balls, balls --
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.           To the itching and the twitching of the balls.

Hear the mellow wedding bells --                             Feel the numbness of the balls --
Golden bells!                                                         Frozen balls!
What a world of happiness their harmony foretells!    What a world of potency their chilliness 
Through the balmy air of night                                 In the icy air of night
How they ring out their delight!                                How the gooseflesh pulls them tight!
From the molten-golden notes,                               See the wrinkles on their coats,
And all in tune,                                                      As on a prune.
What a liquid ditty floats                                         Now they feel as big as boats
To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats         To his paramour so frigid, while she gloats:
On the moon!                                                        "You baboon!"
Oh, from out the sounding cells                              Oh, from hyperboric halls,
What a gush of euphony voluminously wells!            What a glacial wintriness the trembling 
                                                                                     balls appalls!
How it swells!                                                        How he wails!
How it dwells                                                         How he quails
On the Future! -- how it tells                                    At the future - how he bawls:
Of the rapture that impels                                       "What if one breaks off and falls?"
To the swinging and the ringing                               To the shaking and the quaking
Of the bells, bells, bells,                                         Of the balls, balls, balls,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,                                Of the balls, balls, balls, balls,
Bells, bells, bells --                                                Balls, balls, balls --
To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!             To the freezing and the sneezing of the balls!

Hear the loud alarum bells --                                   Feel the turgor of the balls --
Brazen bells!                                                         Swollen balls!
What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells!       What a tale of passion their gibbosity 
In the startled ear of night                                       In the watches of the night
How they scream out their affright!                           How their width and depth and height
Too much horrified to speak,                                   And their thickness reach a peak,
They can only shriek, shriek,                                  The dimensions of a freak!
Out of tune,                                                           They balloon,
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,      With a dropsical distension, with a 
                                                                                           dilatation dire,
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire,  With an insensate tumescence like a  
                                                                                           deaf and frantic fire,
Leaping higher, higher, higher,                                 Leaping higher, higher, higher,
With a desperate desire,                                         With a desperate desire,
And a resolute endeavor                                          Are embarked on an endeavor
Now -- now to sit or never,                                       To expand, now and forever,
By the side of the pale-faced moon.                         To the size of the pale-faced moon.
Oh, the bells, bells, bells!                                        Oh, the balls, balls, balls!
What a tale their terror tells                                     What a tale their bulk recalls!
Of despair!                                                             What a pair!
How they clang, and clash, and roar!                        They are glutted, gorged, and sore!
What a horror they outpour                                      Yet they belly more and more
On the bosom of the palpitating air!                           While embowered in their palpitating hair!
Yet the ear it fully knows,                                        And the bloated scrotum knows
By the twanging                                                      By the rending
And the clanging,                                                    And distending,
How the danger ebbs and flows;                               How their bulging comes and goes;
Yet the ear distinctly tells,                                       And their corpulency galls,
In the jangling                                                         The dilating
And the wrangling,                                                   And inflating,
How the danger sinks and swells,                             How their volume mounts and falls,
By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the        By the rising and the falling in the 
          bells --                                                                       stretching of the balls --
Of the bells,                                                            Of the balls,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,                                  Of the balls, balls, balls, balls,
Bells, bells, bells --                                                  Balls, balls, balls --
In the clamor and the clangor of the bells!                  In the swelling and rebelling of the balls!

Hear the tolling of the bells --                                    Feel the torment of the balls --
Iron bells!                                                                Aching balls!
What a world of solemn thought their monody            What a great catastrophe the stricken 
          compels!                                                                  balls befalls!
In the silence of the night,                                         In the silence of the night,
How we shiver with affright                                         How they suffer in their plight
At the melancholy menace of their tone!                     In an agony throughout the pubic zone!
For every sound that floats                                        Like the bites of hungry stoats,
From the rust within their throats                               Like the kicks of angry goats,
Is a groan.                                                               And the moan
And the people --ah, the people --                              Of the couple -- ah, the couple --
They that dwell up in the steeple,                               Down below the organ supple,
All alone,                                                                 Is the groan
And who tolling, tolling, tolling,                                   Of two fragments, rolling, rolling,
In that muffled monotone,                                           Of congealed testosterone,
Feel a glory in so rolling                                             And they rankle in so rolling
On the human heart a stone --                                    And in grinding on the bone --
They are neither man nor woman --                              And their agony inhuman --
They are neither brute nor human --                             Is the malice of a demon --
They are Ghouls:                                                       Of a ghoul:
And their king it is who tolls;                                       Who has left their tortured souls
And he rolls, rolls, rolls,                                              Full of holes, holes, holes,
Rolls                                                                         Holes.
A paean from the bells!                                               The anguish of the balls!
And his merry bosom swells                                        All the genitalia crawls
With the paean of the bells!                                         With the anguish of the balls!
And he dances, and he yells;                                      They are climbing up the walls;
Keeping time, time, time,                                            Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,                                             In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the paean of the bells,                                            To the anguish of the balls,
Of the bells --                                                             Of the balls --
Keeping time, time, time,                                            Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,                                             In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the throbbing of the bells,                                       To the throbbing of the balls,
Of the bells, bells, bells --                                           Of the balls, balls, balls --
To the sobbing of the bells;                                         To the sobbing of the balls;
Keeping time, time, time,                                            Keeping time, time, time,
As he knells, knells, knells,                                         As it galls, galls, galls,
In a happy Runic rhyme,                                              In a writhing Runic rhyme,
To the rolling of the bells,                                             To the horror-stricken balls,
Of the bells, bells, bells --                                            Of the balls, balls, balls --
To the tolling of the bells,                                             To the dolor of the balls,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,                                      Of the balls, balls, balls, balls,
Bells, bells, bells --                                                      Balls, balls, balls --
To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.                 To the aching and the breaking of the