Thirteen bandits, in one room.
They cannot move, there is no space
They bump and shove, knock over brooms,
They try to exit, they try to race,
They'll send each other to their tombs
Before they move at steady pace,
Their minds are small, they'll meet their dooms
Because they cannot move with grace
They find the fire can quickly bloom
When knocked over in a tiny space
These thirteen bandits caused their gloom
Stupidity ended their days
(my crack at being poetic. don't make fun of me!)
