Comfort Food

I’m just hungry for some comfort food But the officer is pacing because he wants to set the mood Intimidation tactics leave me wondering If he wants to redden the chrome of the back of my seat He can try to beat me down But when the social right is wrong, he can’t beat us all After a while the nightstick starts sounding like the beat of that proverbial different drum And I think that maybe he has found it, too Then supporters flood in like dominoes in a game of Mexican Train The waitstaff glaring at us, but we are stuck to our seats like the faux finish to the countertop We are the unanswered doubles that, despite their searching, they cannot find a match for Eventually they exhaust the boneyard and call the game off And we, those stubborn little black and white tiles, stand victorious And victory is the best comfort food of all.