As the edge of my knife gently travels the delicate portions
Of bacon, garlic, and onions (hell is bloody for my hands get stained)
I wonder how you cut through LIVES just as quickly as that!
I remove the oil from the pan the same way you throw your words mercilessly
And the chopped food dances in the heat (for they do not deserve your pity)
The mushroom soup, the cream, and the cheese spread are mixed and made to flow seeing that blood does
When this whole thing boils, I assure you, it would taste great (like your downfall) . . .