The waves of land are what I be, A smaller mountain, as you can see. I might have been in your childhood, Where you might have rolled down me, like wood.

In fields I stand both day and night, A straw guardian dressed up for a fright. My first five what happens when the bejesus are removed from you, My last four the bird I am meant to do it to.

A surface of glistening waves is what I'm made of, sometimes to large to see the far end. Yet an ocean or sea I am not. Naturally I am filled, tho all round the year humans find a way to have fun with me.

as they sprinkle me in the ocean they, cry once more. this is the last they'll see of me, i will be no more. but sometimes out of me comes new life. a little flame that is hope of triumph over that night

Where muddy waters trap the bold, A maze of muck and tales untold. A sticky mess, where hope goes to die, Also a friend of the Family Guy.