Come look inside my cooking pot

It's full of children you forgot

Upon the streets, so cold & wet

I steal away their rancid breath

 

Then grind them down to fit my pot

And heat it up so very hot

Then feed them to the homeless ones

Who gobble them up with such aplomb!

 

My good deed done, I crawl back home

And slither upon my thorny throne

And there I wait with bated breath

To catch the sweetest stench of death

 

So, when next you pass an ailing child

And turn your cheek, so meek and mild

Don't feel ashamed, please fear-not

There's room inside my cooking pot!