Death Bread Car


Death Bread Car

The Death Bread Car will come to play
All smells of crusty rolls and oil
Sometimes at night, and sometimes day
To stay with those who do not toil.

“Tap these bones upon my plate”
Death Bread Car says in your head
“Play my teeth from dawn ’til late
And if you stop, you will be dead!”

Death Bread Car cannot be sliced
If you try your brains will boil
And if you run, then in a trice
Your lungs will fill with engine oil.

So bake your bread with your own hands
Toil to bake your bread each day
The Death Bread Car, it roams our lands
Bake fresh, keep Death Bread Car away.

About the author 

Simon Huggins

I write differently sized and shaped stories, sometimes as poems.

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