I'm the red icing on the cake!

A certain someone calls me the red icing on the cake and I'm all afluttered like the wispy edge of a cedar chest during the shearing days, then I remember the horrible horrible truth of it all and I know deep down inside that this is a cake that should never be baked for fear that it would rise so high and mighty that it would reach the very sky itself and blot out the sun on which we depend for light and warmth and that would be a real drag.
I did me some talkin' to the sun, and I said "I didn't like the way he got things done, always sleeping on the job and staying in all day sometimes and then other times burning our skins like radiation but without the awkward probes," and that should have settled it right there, but you see, Mr. Forestone, I have lain out a plan so dubious that rats couldn't hold it down, even during the September rum riots. The sun and I, the sun and me, ah, fuck it. Me and the sun, yeah, we go way back, then back again.
Creepy crawly ` Oscar Mayer ` Georgie Porgie ` Hester Baker
Granny grabber ` Grecian gruntle ` Habius Corpus ` Pudding Pie!
I am 10 days older than I was 10 days ago. My skin has been replaced with more skin. My hair grows, then falls out. My finger and toe nails have to be trimmed often or they grow wildly. I breathe in, I breathe out. I turn food and drink into poop and pee. I make wax and other fluids. I pet the cat. I feed the birds. I take a number. It is 10.
10.