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.