Feel the adrenaline through my veins,

the passion that flows through them.

Master of fire and the flames,

perfecting the art of how to use them.

The sound of my knife on my board,

slicing and dicing in rythmic song.

Hearing the voice of my personal sword,

she sings to me all night long.

The battle begins the demand is high,

producing the best I have to offer.

The sweat pours like rain from the sky,

as the War on hunger I do slaughter.

Even in battle I must stay reserved,

until my oponents are full and happily beaten.

My art is done,

its purpose served, 

with words of praise on what was eaten.

We are composers of the ancient art,

writing in our own clef.

The song of War A la Carte.

Its good to be Chef.