This pasta predicament has us cooked,
Old floppy spies too long in the pot,
These spaghetti lines cut too easy,
Leaving our intel rather... al dante,
See you behind some tasty tasty bars,
Tomatom, and Pestor.
P.S. Luckily they are fettuccini.

Through the clouds,
I'm falling and the world outside
Is sifting down the greys to whites,
Then quickly whites to greys,
We're out and free but now around,
Are fleeting structures in the air,
Pretty pillars - bastions with flair.

I try to walk on painful stones beside,
The water's glory bare before my eyes,
Whisper, whisper, why do you speak in rhymes?

I thank the LORD your rhymes find ends in Him,
To Him my ears are clear to Your beauty,
To Him my eyes are clear to Your beauty.