[Intro — whispered, a spoon tapping against glass] Come in, darling. You look starved. I saved the part You couldn’t swallow. [Verse 1 — close, controlled] Bring me the hurt you never named. Bring me the face you need to blame. Come hungry, darling. Leave your coat. I know the thing stuck in your throat. An ounce of “always,” a pound of “them,” An old humiliation warmed again. I keep it tender. I keep it near. Nothing takes the seasoning like fear. [Pre-Chorus — bass rising] You want it simple. You want it hot. You want a reason For what you’re not. [Chorus — huge, seductive, vicious] THE MISTRESS’S SECRET RECIPE— SUGAR OVER SPITE. I MAKE YOUR ANGER TASTE LIKE LOVE AND YOUR APPETITE FEEL RIGHT. YOU BRING THE HUNGER. I GIVE IT A NAME. COME BACK FOR SECONDS— THERE’S PLENTY OF BLAME. [Verse 2 — sharper, guitars answering each line] Your hurt gets a name and a face. Theirs gets a number and takes less space. A little “only” cuts the weight. See what a single word can take. I strain the faces from the stock. You watch my hands. You watch the clock. You came for answers. Supper’s late. You take what’s put upon your plate. [Pre-Chorus — almost tender] Too much to question. Too tired to choose. Let me decide What belongs to you. [Chorus] THE MISTRESS’S SECRET RECIPE— SUGAR OVER SPITE. I MAKE YOUR ANGER TASTE LIKE LOVE AND YOUR APPETITE FEEL RIGHT. YOU BRING THE HUNGER. I GIVE IT A NAME. COME BACK FOR SECONDS— THERE’S PLENTY OF BLAME. [Bridge — clean voice, machinery falls silent] I used to sit across this table. I used to ask what everything meant. She’d smile and bring another helping. I never asked where the questions went. One night she left the kitchen open. One night I stood beside the flame. Her apron hung against the cupboard. By morning, it carried my name. [Breakdown — slow, barked commands] TURN UP THE HEAT. TURN DOWN THE DOUBT. IF SOMETHING WON’T FIT— STRAIN IT OUT. NAME IT. WEIGH IT. CARVE IT THIN. LEAVE JUST ENOUGH TO CALL IT WHAT IT’S BEEN. [Sudden stop — whispered] The secret? [Band slams back in] I WATCH WHAT YOU LEAVE. I WATCH WHAT YOU TAKE. I CHANGE THE RECIPE TO THE FACE YOU MAKE. [Final Chorus — triumphant, then unraveling] THE MISTRESS’S SECRET RECIPE— SUGAR OVER SPITE. I MAKE YOUR ANGER TASTE LIKE LOVE AND YOUR APPETITE FEEL RIGHT. YOU BROUGHT THE HUNGER. I GAVE IT A NAME. NOW YOU’RE IN MY KITCHEN, ASKING HOW MUCH FLAME. [Outro — quiet, a chair scraping back] Keep the apron. Mind the heat. Someone’s waiting In your seat.
