A fork is a cold shiny tool

To pierce, tear and ingest

Whoever has the fork in hand

Controls the meal of its choice

We're told the first few punctures

They're for our own good

Better carved up in pieces

Than blown up in the oven

Agh! Agh! Agh!

Forkboy

Flies by night on stolen fuel

To Santa Rosa, CA

Opens a fake employment office