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『 Serenato 』 ・Original by durgie ・@durgie https://suno.com/s/6eejgepYCSTrzw2v I don’t just like potatoes— I yearn for them at dawn. I dream of spuds with angel wings that whisper, “Fry me, spawn.” I crave them in the morning, I crave them late at night. If someone stole my tater stash, I’d absolutely fight. I’ve pledged eternal loyalty to every tuber farm. If a potato asked me out, I’d take it on my arm. A crispy fry? I’d serenade. A tot? I’d write a vow. A buttery mound of mashed delight? I’d kiss it on the brow. I’d join a secret tater cult— robes beige, devotion deep. We chant, “ALL HAIL THE GOLDEN SPUD!” while baking them in heaps. Sometimes I see a russet and my soul begins to rise. I swear a Yukon Gold once winked— potatoes… they’re alive. I love them so completely it borders on concerning. A therapist once asked me, “Why this spuddy yearning?” I gazed into the distance, heart glowing like a stove: “Because,” I whispered softly, “They fill the hole… that bread can’t … in my soul.”