On the cutting room floor
My leg was once an amputee,
and frozen in Peru;
they stitched it hurriedly to me
before I was too blue.
They grafted in a piece of chin
discarded by a Kurd,
and gave me two lips from Turin
so I could give the word.
From twin Australian pigs they took
the faster of two hearts;
no wonder then, that I should look
as if from foreign parts.