There's this kind of Music,
That makes my stomach growl.
The notes my Mother make,
Which moves my belly's soul.
With knives which came clashing,
Pots, Pans, and Caldrons boiling,
Produced the Glorious Scent,
Everyone was following.
The noises came from the kitchen,
The Kingdom wherein she reigns.
Singing to my fleshly ears,
I battle my foolish feigns.
Then there we are waiting,
Hunched like a beast.
And as the lid came off,
Showed MY MOTHER'S MASTERPIECE!
