The lunch lady
calls out her new special—cheese made from assorted fresh
brains—and I can't stop hummin; her mesmerizin’ song
of “fromage that's so creamy, so scrumptious,
so dreamy, when spread on foccacia or toast…” That quirky lunch
lady just launched through our portal, an opera star cracklin’ crystal
and ice, and I still can't stop singing—
have the stars all stopped twinklin’, the moons ceased their wrigglin’,
as the fog's now liftin’ her wagon away? That Trans-dimensional lunch
wagon with its crumbly quark
lady, that trans-stellar culinary fiend, who’ll send your heart reelin’ with
incandescent fetes-a-fromage—and you’ll even stop wonderin’ whose
brains they once were, as oh—
how she tempts us—but who will protect us—from the loony lunch
lady with her Trans-dimensional wagon 'cause word has it she's catering your
summit today?
