Monday, September 22, 2003

Ikea Lament

To the tune of "Lady Franklin's Lament."


The pressboard bookshelves lay in a heap.
I gave it up and went off to sleep.
I dreamed a dream that stopped my snore
For I was lost in an Ikea store.

I had a cart and a yellow bag,
I munched on meatballs and picked up tags.
But when at last it came time to leave,
The way outside I could not perceive.

Turning around, it seemed all the same.
Mountains of things with their Swedish names.
Though all the rooms were signed and lit,
The one path to travel was twisted and split.

Upstairs and down I went through the aisles,
Through desks, chairs, beds, boxes, plates and files.
Ikea clerks when they did pass through
Could not be caught when I tried to pursue.

In Emery Bay where the shoppers go,
Ikea's exit no man may know.
Ikea's exit no tongue can tell,
It seemed my doom to forever there dwell.

When I awoke, my shelves caused me pain
For a missing part I must return again.
Ten thousand krona's not too much to pay
To avoid the trap of Ikea's maze.

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