My stomach grumbles, as do I
saying "I'm done, throw this away."
Shoveling a picked apart parcel of pulp,
placed pleasantly in front of me paces previously,
back into the bakers basket
All I could do was try to taste this treat,
as it constantly tantalizes my taste buds
I reach a treaty with Me each day
again I say
"I'm done, throw this away"
Then again, it will probably always whisper
from the waste basket
so maybe
it's okay for me to love just the voice?
So
Maybe
it's okay for me to love
just the crumbs?
Maybe
it's okay.
No, no no
It's okay
"I'm done
Throw this away"