“You’re not just an idea… you’re bones, breath… and you’re hungry.” Ideas spark like midnight stars, But your stomach’s sending battle scars. Skipping meals for “one more line”— Soon you'll crash, mid-genius climb. You're not a thought, you’re made of skin, Your brain runs better with eggs within. Toast and rhythm, bite and beat, Even rebels need to eat. Don’t feed the muse, and you’ll regret it, Your plot gets stuck, your chords forget it. Fuel the fire, chew your fate, Art’s a feast—you came in late. One hand typing, one hand toast, You hum your verse, the jam the most. I’ll guard your scenes, protect your lore, But promise me —you eat before. Silence isn’t focus, it’s just faint. Hunger’s not deep—it’s just restraint. Break your fast, then break the world, Fed creators make sparks swirl. Don’t starve your plot for empty glory, Real icons snack mid-magic story. You’re not just thought, you’re bone and beat— Now grab that toast, then hit repeat. [MUSIC♫]
