The little goldfish, layin' in the water,
The little goldfish, was piranha fodder.
He didn't feel, that being a meal
was in his fate, but realized late
that goldfish tail served with ale
is gourmet nirvana for Mr. Piranha.

The little goldfish, full of innocence,
felt the bite didn't make no sense.
It was after all, casting a pall
on his own repast, breaking his fast
on golden flakes of sardine cakes,
He could ingest it but not digest it.

The little goldfish, now it would seem,
no longer had the equipment to scream,
nor lodge a complaint, not even a faint
yelp of surprise at the sudden demise
of its nether parts.  No more farts
of intestinal gas could ever pass.

The little goldfish was at wit's end,
It had a gullet open at both ends.
Surprised and dejected, it rightly objected
to its own dilemma.  But no problema
it now exclaimed, I may be maimed
but in a pinch I could lose a few inches.

The little goldfish, now smaller in stature,
Than the fish it was before it's capture,
Could imbibe no more what once it adored.
The good life had ended, and couldn't be mended.  
'Tis true, he said, there's trouble ahead,
I won't deny it, I'll just go on a diet.

The little goldfish died and its soul,
escaped the flush of the toilet bowl.
To heaven it went, to pass judgement
On fishes whose lives had been goodly and wise.
It's wings a-flutter, it loudly muttered,
with harp a-strummin', No piranhas may come in.