Enclosed in a shell
a road to nowhere.
Just a frothy mess
What does it care?
Snails, messy things
In and out all day
Just a frothy mess
In which to stay.
Snails, messy things.
Then a huge pronged fork
and into a wet mouth it pops.
Chewed, crushed to death
and there the taste stops.
Snails, messy things.