Molasses.

It’s molasses.
It’s rolling around.
Getting bigger & bigger.
It’s growing wild.

Give it a little breath,
and it comes alive,
with everybody inside,
all along for the ride.

I don’t like the texture.
I don’t like the taste.
It’s not I can’t love.
I can’t afford the glaze.

Do I wait around?
Do I run away?
Something else’s got me.
I might be a nutcase.

It’s something to swallow,
just something to digest.
Fire up the engines.
Are you food or friend?

Hello, molasses,
you’ve come a long way.
Are they easy to contain?
Still shitting saints?

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