The kitchen is quiet, the shadows grow long,
A hunger wakes up and something feels wrong.
It starts with a crumb, then turns to a flood,
A rush in the mind, a pull in the blood.
A hunger wakes up and something feels wrong.
It starts with a crumb, then turns to a flood,
A rush in the mind, a pull in the blood.
The table is cleared, the wrappers remain,
A sudden sharp wave of heavy, hot pain.
The mirror looks close, the silence is loud,
A sinking defeat away from the crowd.
A sudden sharp wave of heavy, hot pain.
The mirror looks close, the silence is loud,
A sinking defeat away from the crowd.
The water runs fast to cover the sound,
The feet on the tile, the spinning around.
A desperate reach for an empty release,
A brief, hollow second of stolen peace.
The feet on the tile, the spinning around.
A desperate reach for an empty release,
A brief, hollow second of stolen peace.
The knees hit the floor, the breathing is slow,
The body is tired, with nowhere to go.
The cycle spins round, a trap in the mind,
Leaving the real, sweet hunger behind.
The body is tired, with nowhere to go.
The cycle spins round, a trap in the mind,
Leaving the real, sweet hunger behind.
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