It’s quite incidental
The sun shines hot spice
When Ichabad was seven
He really seemed nice
But then came the summer,
The ice cream and cake
strawberries, blueberries, hot dogs and steak.
Mangoes so juicy and yellow and sweet
The mustard and ketchup and barbecued meat.
The FBI report
Provided contradictions
But the point of the matter was
Too many addictions.
The doorstep was narrow
Like a surrogate mother
It helped that poor Ichabad
Did not have a brother.
A chimpanzee maybe,
but nothing more nothing less
The natives reported
He left with finesse.
cupcakesruletheatmosphere 