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Tomato Soup

What’s the mat­ter?
Feel­ing down, a bit ill?
Sport­ing a frown? Got germs to kill?
The ap­pro­pri­ate ad­jec­tive for every part,
Such as a painful brain or a fleet­ing heart?
In­flamed si­nuses, ner­vous stom­ach?
Wheez­ing lungs, heavy chest?
Itchy mouth, sore throat?
Runny nose, puffy eyes,
And that rash that just won’t go away?

Well, bol­ster your will and hold the pill; no need for med­i­cine today.
All that’s re­quired’s that soup you de­sire of dreamy, lovely taste.
Tomato soup, don’t call me a liar, just drink that creamy frothy paste.
I’m not being fic­ti­tious, it’s re­ally de­li­cious, and trust me it isn’t a waste.
You laugh at me now but it’s truly nu­tri­tious, just wait for the look on your face!

Tomato soup, I can see your change of opin­ion as you think:

Oh my— He was right!
The veg­etable elixir as it touches my throat is a cure. The thick, heavy, warm bolus sinks to my stom­ach, and like an atomic bomb in a world of sad men it’s pay­load is de­liv­ered and it whitens the sky as if a whole city were sim­ply being erased by an om­nipo­tent being and, for a mo­ment the world is blank. Pure lu­cid­ity, under the ef­fer­ves­cent bliss of a white sky, all ail­ments are washed clean. Upon swal­low­ing the soup I re­gained my will and knew that once again the sun would rise and that fi­nally I could live on. He was right. He was right. He was RIGHT! He- You, sir, you have given me my liveli­hood, my health, my own body, how could I repay you? How could I ever re­lin­quish this debt? Any­thing you ask you shall re­ceive, name your price.”

I knew you would cher­ish my de­li­cious dish,
And as re­pay­ment I have only one wish.
There is only one price for a soup so fine,
And that price, my friend, is one ninety-​nine.