The Impossible

Justin Zuczek

Once there was a toaster, he
Cooked bread so good that he was
Labeled a boaster, he never burned
Anything to a crisp, the owner had a lisp.

He accepted a piece of bread, shot it back out
At the man, as he dropped dead, lying in his own
Blood, the kitchen began to flood.

The cracks began to fill, which sent a chill, down my
Spine, but made the toaster feel fine, no one knew it
Was dangerous, that’s why it was strange to us.

No one believed us; they thought we were crazy, there was
No investigation, they were being lazy, but I saw it with my own
Eyes, I watched him drop with cries that could be heard from the skies.

Now I am being charged with murder, for nothing did I do, I’m just a sheep
Herder. I believe this is unfair, for Jesus has not yet answered my prayers, to let
Me out of this total mess, I promise I did not kill the man, this is just causing me stress.

Now I’m going to prison for years on end, so I fled the scene to a public place, where I Could try to blend, I think this is bull, no one would ever suspect a toaster, I looked to the Right and saw my face on a wanted poster.