My Pop-Tart's sprinkles are nothing like the stars;
Grass is far more green than its sprinkles green;
If holes be seals, why then its sides are scars;
If frosting is white, its white frosting gleans.
I have seen mugs smashed and turned into dust
But this package is not fond of spilling.
And in Toaster Strudels, flaky crust
Cannot compare to my Pop-Tart's filling.
I love to fuck the filling; yet I know
There are other things that are just as sweet.
It pains me to leave my Pop-Tart and go
To the other place I can find some heat
I love my tart, but don't find this hokey;
I loathe most everything else except Loki.