Wooly thoughts and a cinematic glare,
There’s a wild kind of magic in the London air.
Spider-Man retired, now he’s tending to the flock,
With a cardigan so cozy that it’s giving us a shock,
Got the shaggy mane swinging like a 70s rock star,
He didn’t drive a limo, he just baa-ed from the car.
Embroidered little lambs on a knitwear throne,
The wildest silhouette that the carpet’s ever known.
Oh, Andrew’s gone grazing in the Faraway Tree,
With a sweater full of sheep and a spirit that’s free,
He’s the Shepherd of the Style, the King of the Knit,
If looking this comfy is a crime, then he’s it!
Baa, baa, Garfield, have you any wool?
Is it method acting for a farmyard scene?
Or just the softest flex that we’ve ever seen?
From the web-slinger to the wool-bringer,
Style so sharp it’s a total bell-ringer.
He’s not lost, he’s just...
Keep the hair messy and the stitches steady.
Someone get this man a meadow.
