The news tells me With breathless glee About the sword and its thin thread. They have a guest Who does their best To fill me with a sense of dread. And every night There's some new fright To make me fear the days ahead. "Look out, look out," They dance and shout and tell a tale of wrack and woe. "There's more sad things," The anchor sings. "You'll be outraged by this, you know." And so is made Another blade To hang above my head just so.