I wasn't able to finish my meals four days straight
I wasn't able to cook for myself
The chef visits me to do the job
Right at the moment I sit infront of the dining table,
He'll appear to serve his recipe
It's a little bit soury, if you ask
Maybe because my throat got lumpy
It makes it hard for me to swallow the food
But I manage to take a spoonful of it
And there, I ate his servings
I was sickly full, I admit
Though I wanted to throw it all, I can't
He's there, waiting for me to react so he could cook another one
So I maintained my straight face
And swallowed everything I could
And when I felt he's satisfied
I'd excuse myself and enter my room
The food wasn't good at all
It drains my energy
So for a moment of excuse I'd recharge myself
Ready to take another bowl for tomorrow.
