In this mad world of bake or die
You sing your own foreign tunes
Made of the many melodies that
Through this life you have learnt
And when the lyrics are awry
When your voice breaks and shudders
When a wall stands in your way
Your run across it with arms arched
None have yet slowed your pace
For the run of the bird is a sight
And many have run from it in vain
Because your path is sure and certain
A baker with murder on the mind
A singer who can soar like a bird
A mother that makes laughter easy
You are all of these things and more