Hinomaru no Setsumei no Shosaku no Koto I come from where they have no fingers, babies paint, that cat smell lingers, salmon drive and cattle sing, and you can taste most anything; it's called Japan, a magic place where pixies oft turn blood to lace, and you can go there too, my friend! (It costs a penny, maybe ten.) Just take a plane to Tokyo, where all the little shrimpies go. Then catch a train, a bus and taxi, look for signs for "Happy Maxi," grab a bike and kill a tourist, argue with a language purist, point a cannon at the sun, then fire, boy -- the fun's begun. Grab a chainsaw, hack to pieces seven children and their nieces, carry off their bloody torsos, magnify their pigtails more so, sign your name in wet cement, attack the emp'ror, build a vent, go to Kyoto, go to Hell, and marry sixty gilded cells.