Reading in a magic book,
As strange as that may seem
About the Eater and a Cook
Who bakes and broils, grinning through the dream,
Whipping and whisking, the pots make bubbly sound.
Oh, yes, Gods got a kitchen in our playground

I close my eyes and shudder
As, Lord, the images appear.
“Mommie, please help me” I mutter
As the Eater becomes more clear;
A grin, slurping saliva, his eyes blank and round.
Oh, yes, Gods got a kitchen in our playground.

Look closely at my youth, I cry,
Its not me you want I’m sure!
His answer comes from open sores that sigh,
“Tonight a meal you’ll be, but certainly not a cure.”
Then with bloodied rope am bound.
Oh, yes, Gods got a kitchen in our playground.

Too soon, laid before the Cook, I know
My mind has gone to sleep.
Crunching cleaver, meaty mallet and seasoning just so...
The Eater waits in thought, not good nor deep
Just visions of the night ahead and me nicely browned.
Oh, yes, Gods got a kitchen in our playground.

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