In IKEA’s maze, I wander and roam, A labyrinth of lamps and cozy home, With dreams of a kitchen so sleek and neat, Yet lost in a forest of self-assemble seats.

Through endless aisles of chairs and beds, Where visions of storage dance in my head, I search for an exit, a path to be free, But each turn I take leads me back to B3.

Then a thought occurs, a curious twist, Could it be the CIA in on this? They’ve changed the directions and turned me around, In IKEA, forever, I’m helplessly bound.