Under a tree, a lazy Sunday.

Time just for me, so here I will lay.

The warmth of the sun, breeze which is cool,

Eyes weigh a ton, stomach is full.

Light as a feather, drifting away.

The tree is a lever, I pull it to play.

It spits out a jackpot, of colourful leaves,

I put them in a big pot, and sift with my sieve.

Flour pours out, into the batter.

I get some on my snout, this fat pig gets fatter.

My buttons pop off, my shirt starts to burst,

But still I must scoff, expanding my girth.

My stomach rips open, torn clean apart,

I lower my rope and, lift out my heart.

Pulsing in place, it beats like a drum,

It starts to race, ba dum ba da dum.

Suddenly though, it stops very still.

Then away I go, rolling down the hill.

Then up in a jiffy, and out of the cup,

Over the cliff, and then I wake up.