Aprons on like it’s a crime scene, White dust ghosts where the knives have been, Turkey posing for a magazine, Sauce reduced, jaws clenched clean. Someone wipes their nose, says “fine”, Egos high on borrowed time, “This year’s different” — classic line, Teeth grinding hope into design. Garlic breath don’t stand a chance, Numb tongues skipping every dance, Beer just keeps the edge in trance, Hands too shaky for a fork romance. Table’s set like royalty, But hunger’s missing mysteriously, Everybody wired, wide and free, Food’s just furniture tonight, you see. Clock too loud, pupils wide, Everyone buzzing, no one inside, Forks untouched, hearts in flight, It’s that kind of night. Dinner’s ready, food’s a dream, But we’re snow-blind, if you know what I mean, White confetti on the brain, Pour another, drown the chain. Calories waiting, cold and alone, We’re feeding the rush, not the bone, Happy New Year, cheers again, We didn’t eat — we transcended then. Ten… nine… jaws locked tight, Eight… seven… pupils like headlights, Six… five… taste is gone, Four… three… appetite’s done. Morning light, regret à la carte, Leftovers staring, broken heart, We laugh it off — yeah, that’s the art, We don’t eat feelings from the start. We let them buzz, We let them bite, We chased the white And lost the night.
