I will offer my brains on a silver plate,
Well done, medium, or rare, I shall comply,
All I ask is to have a grill of my own,
Or else I'll have no other option than my thoughts to fry.

With a side dish of spaghetti dreams,
We'll skip the pickles for something stronger,
I'll dice up ambition into nice polygons,
Cause maybe then the flavor will last longer.

With the finest of cutlery and napkins,
I'll fold every certificate I've ever been given,
You shall wipe the grease on the paper,
Until the absurdity of the years is driven.

Clink your glasses, devour the best of wine,
An elite of every drop of sweat in the expense of sleepless nights,
Ones spent toppling over determination,
But tonight I'mma wear a chef's hat and cook some peace of mind.