[Verse 1]
Twenty-six bones stacked in a single foot,
seven tarsals cradling the heel and root,
five metatarsals fan out like a hand,
fourteen phalanges tap out in the sand.
Double it over, fifty-two in pairs,
a quarter of your skeleton quietly stairs
down to the floor where all the weight gets thrown,
every step you take is a tiny xylophone.
[Chorus]
Seven, five, fourteen, that's the tarsal tune,
twenty-six a foot, fifty-two by noon,
Jones broke dancing, soldiers marched and cracked,
sesamoids glide where the big toe's backed,
learn the feet and the toes, count them as you go,
seven tarsals, five bones, fourteen in a row.
[Verse 2]
Robert Jones, surgeon, nineteen-oh-two,
twisted his own foot while he spun and he flew,
found the break low on the fifth metatarsal bone,
right at the base where the shaft turns to stone,
named it for himself, though he'd never brag,
now dancers and ballers wave the same ragged flag,
that fracture's stubborn, poor blood runs thin,
healing takes patience and a screw now and then.
[Verse 3]
Eighteen fifty-five, a Prussian regiment walked,
miles upon miles till the metatarsals balked,
Breithaupt saw the swelling, no bruise, no bash,
just bone giving way to a quiet repeated crash,
they called it the march fracture, a stress line so fine,
not from one hard blow but a thousand in a line,
runners know it too, their shin splints' sneaky cousin,
rest is the cure when the cracking has begun.
[Verse 4]
Under your big toe, two little round stones,
sesamoid pulleys, the smallest of bones,
they steer the tendon like a cable through a wheel,
dancers up on pointe can feel how they peel,
crack with a landing, ache with a spin,
tucked in the tendon, riding just beneath skin,
and the arches above them, that long springy bow,
bone shape and ligament keeping the flow,
tendons pull tight where the structures interlock,
same old trick as before, Where Bones Meet unlocks.
[Bridge]
Heel bone, ankle bone, cuboid and the rest,
seven tarsals standing like a cobblestone chest,
metatarsals bridge to the phalange crew,
three bones each toe, except the big one's two,
count it on your fingers, then count on your feet,
fifty-two together, a bony drumbeat.
[Chorus]
Seven, five, fourteen, that's the tarsal tune,
twenty-six a foot, fifty-two by noon,
Jones broke dancing, soldiers marched and cracked,
sesamoids glide where the big toe's backed,
learn the feet and the toes, count them as you go,
seven tarsals, five bones, fourteen in a row.
[Outro]
Twenty-six and twenty-six make the pair you own,
every mile you wander is a conversation with bone,
from the heel to the tip of the very last toe,
that's the architecture holding up the show.