The fingers pricked,
the blood, it beads,
our body lies,
about its needs.

Pancreas and liver,
all worn out,
excess energy stored,
we scream and pout.

Blood so sweet,
just like a pie,
full of fat,
leads us to die.

In moderation preached,
but hard to follow,
so we weep,
in obesity wallow.

To eat for fun,
it is a pleasure
but it ends our life,
the one we treasure.