Eight

You were a dangling Octopus, just sitting on the ocean floor
When your inky head turned the wrong way and you were living in the ocean no more.
You sailed on a boat to a harbour and found yourself tossed onto stone packed in ice
Then some creature with only two hands chopped your eight off and started to fry.
You were just a dangling Octopus with no malice or grudge no, no frown
Now you're a starter in a fancy diner and your tentacles are the talk of the town.