Crisis

Some lyrics of my own. Song On Sunday morning, breakfast time, The butter was gone, what a crime! To my neighbor, I quickly ran, But her tub was almost empty, what a plan! She couldn't help me, oh my, Barely enough for herself, not a lie. Despair arose, worries took flight, "Who can lend me butter?", echoed in my heart with might. The burden was heavy, the fear so great, I wish I had just let go of this silly fate. Butter, just a fat, what a vain fight, Margarine I took, and my sorrow took flight. Buddha, the wise, once spoke so clear, A thousand things he taught, but in the end, all was here. So too the butter search, pointless and full of pain, Calmness returned, and I was glad that all can wane.