A Pinch of Salt


Is all I need, so please don’t mind my fingers picking
At your nose and at your ears; I know they’re a bit wet from licking,
But the  scrumptious food just tastes so good you see
Oh wait–you can’t–your eyes a lunar sea
Of gaping white, two yawing orbs of gloom
That tell the tale of your impending doom.
We don’t use a salt shaker, instead
We simply use a piece of Lot’s wife’s head.

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Because Russ L asked

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