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!