Wound up and twisted around
Bent out of shape and in a tizzy
Gassing in a small enclosed corner
Tied upside down and really dizzy.
Stirred and shaken like liver bacon
About to urp and really queasy
Thinking of a time on a wave
Hurling now would be quite easy
Meazly corn and beans and peas
Churning away to make me say
That I could barf now but maybe wait
For the next blessed moment for which I pray
To be let go from this awful torment
And thinking of the spice that tempted me
And the ribs who called my name
But now – hold on – let me flee
To the ceramic paradise of all things holy.
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