What they say is what they want
And what they want is me
Glorious, whorious, me
Give me lemons, and I’ll make a mess
Glorious, messmakersaurus, me.
My arms they aren’t the same length at all
I can’t seem to open doors right, but I’m hell in a brawl.
Custom sweaters are not an issue
A snip snip here, a stretch stretch there,
And viola! It’s custom made for me!
I have a hedgehog that lives in the crook of my arm
He’s my friend, my confidant, and full of charm
I love him, but I think he only stays to be warm
Unless he’s on holiday, to his hedgehog farm
My hair is a fright, I have to cut it every night
It grows and it grows, and gets tangled in my clothes
I sell it to wigmakers, every bald person has one on my street
Some think it neat, but I repeat: It’s not.
So in this celebration of me, beautiful me,
Step into my mind, I don’t mind, come and see
The ticking and tocking of the mechanism of me
The cogs clack a singsong to my thoughts
It’s really a cacophy of fun.
Come and play?
Oh and please stay.
Today.
Yay.
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