Perfectly petrified portraits;
Remnants of days long gone.
How your design puzzles me
For something seems very wrong
Stubby little arms and tree-trunk legs
How about some balance, so the ground isn’t so friendly with your head?
And those accursed birds who could not take flight
You were so useless; actually I’m glad you’re dead
Don’t fret my bony friends, for I still admire you
And your strange cannibalistic ways
Even though you eat your friends, I understand I do
I’ve never tried human, but sometimes, we look tasty too.
People think I’m crazy, for liking long-dead things
But you are my friends, with your pointy, pointless wings
And your funny head too, and even your silly limbs
Just tell me who made you, for I want a word with him
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