It hung on my lips like an ancient waterfall, frozen in eternal winter
But even still in that chilling cold my soul, so brave and warm,
Felt nature's cleaving edge and set to splinter
Pressed in flesh in imitation of the wild and unimagined
Trapped between two halves of whole and others there besides
Never known to this world's love, and so growing quite misshapen.
Saucy truth, not quite content to travel on the path of history
Strikes awe in eyes of followers and devotees
And quietly though I trace my way, remembering such humbleness
Never rich, ensconced in power or being contemptuously glib
So I did make my way across that portal to the priests and artisans
And ordered “One McRib”
