You might find me in a pack, Though I'm not part of the main group. I'm often foiled by a bat. And I'm the one who can't be serious.

You look to me when you're uncertain, and I can give you one of two answers I am a token of kindness when I'm scarce, and a symbol of sin when I am many

Carved into a pistol, it’s a count that’s hell felt, it’s a shame ending up as one on someone’s belt. Flaked into projectile heads to keep hold. Rest in this groove, make your mark in the fold.

Take this! For that horrendous performance. I grew it myself, and fought off green worms, enormous. Now that it’s done I think it’s time that I ate, there’s bacon and lettuce, oh, the T’s on your face.

Golden grid where morning dreams rest, nestled in syrup's embrace, a cozy lattice of warmth, each square a tiny pillow for a crispy delight.