I met a man who makes meals at a restaurant where there's no menu
But everythings on it
Impossible I know
But I met a man who makes meals At a restaurant called "death Row"
I met a man who makes the last meals. And I know way too many people who would attack him, Asking him, How it feels to be part of something like that.
So instead,
I just let him chew the fat, And I listen.
And he tells me about a 31 year old boy.
A 31 year old boy because he was convicted at the age of 22
Been waiting 9 years on Death Row
And last week was his turn
So he asked for Sourdough french toast, and a side of magic beans. Because he would rather face down a giant, rather take his chances with a beanstalk,
Then walk down that hall.
Where every footfall echoes iot that same oblivion
Where every experience he never had congregates to create a world he never lived in.
So ya
Find yoursewlf asking for things like magic beans. And a cook finds himself understanding what it means to be desperate.
And he tells me that most of this food never gets touches
That doesn't stop him from being exact Even though the fact is, He'll never make a meal as good as mom could, It'll never taste as good as it would coming from the one who raised you, and he knows this, But he's meticulous