I am the machine
my rotorblade mouth
the rush of air
starts before
the food is sucked in
My hands are a blur
My ram jet mouth red hot
stomach expanding splitting my shirt
my trousers down they come
on with the trakkies
let the feeding continue nearing some pain
eyes starting to water
food running out
look a bag of unopened crisps
oh, it's open now
down the gullet
into the stomach
out comes some more insulin
says get that blood sugar down
quick lets turn it to fat
oh no no more fat cells
lets make some more
day after day
year after year
tyre after tyre does appear
My rotor blade mouth
with rotor blade teeth still spins
give me a sugar mountain
And I shall power milton keynes
For fifty years
No make that ten
But you must give me a sausage
The size of big ben
I shall chew off the skin first
then swallow it whole
such is my greed to be filled
My food requirements are vast
Don't mention the famines
because all I can say
I would trade starvation for gluttony anyday.