Munching on a plate of food
A piece of meat with slab of butter
Munching is the way that soothes me
I just want to eat it now
I guess I could eat a cow

Somewhere in this pile of clothes
I found some smells that ought to smother
Something there is vile that calls me
It might be a moldy towel
I love when the scent is foul

You think I run with crude, rude blokes
“He’s so gross
He’s so gross.”
I eat the things you toss out most
Might be toast
Might be roast.

Maybe when the bomb, it blows
And all this life is gone, yet I endure
Feeding on the things you’ve shown me
I guess I should thank you now
I’m roach with his happy chow.