I am the lid of the pan.
Metal is my body; I have no blood.
One thousand stir fries I've cooked.
Heated by flame, a little too hot.
Have withstood stains never to be clean.
Yet, everything in me can spoil.
So while I stay, Why can't I eat.
Metal is my body; I have no blood.
One thousand stir fries I've cooked.
Heated by flame, a little too hot.
Have withstood stains never to be clean.
Yet, everything in me can spoil.
So while I stay, Why can't I eat.



