The Muffin Man

The muffin man butters up the buns in his bakery

In the major league, he kneads to pay for his latency.

A dream, a vacancy, it was cake is what they made it seem

It's stationary, and apparently, he flaked; he thought he could take for free

They came and grabbed him the lunacy, shooting, and looting as they made for the gluten

Foolishly choosing a loaf that was ruthless and moving deeper into debt, he couldn't hope to refute it

But for a dream, he could never refuse it; he was told if you don't dream, you don't see the oven spring or infuse it with a legacy, and if you don't leaven the wheat, you lose it

Broke kneecaps foe got ya in a fleabag; the birch syrup is tree sap for a starter in a relapse

He once had the sauce to turn sourdough into some monkey bread

Cracking like a crumb in the trunk, he begs

But instead, he goes to meet his artisan

Whisked into the ocean without a defensive argument

Peace.

Yeast.