Tight Pants

As soon as I convince myself that food is not my friend This one-sided relationship will all come to an end Each day when I arise I pledge an archetypal goal To overcome the food addition pulling on my soul But as the day goes forward, problems start to come around The vending machine calls me and my love jones comes on down Food shouldn't be my buddy, nor my solace when I'm sad Not what to do when I'm alone or feeling really bad I can't find myself in popcorn, there's no counseling in chips This love affair's not working out (I see it on my hips) Though I know it's not where I should go when looking for the truth, I share secrets with my pantry - it's my confessional booth For many years I've searched and searched for pairs of loving eyes Those I find - are on potatoes or my skinny lover - fries I look for comfort in the coolness of a milkshake's sweet embrace It seems to be what I need but – it's showing in my face I love the crunch of fried fish once it's bubbled in hot grease But these rolls of fat upon my back just do not bring me peace Sometimes I think I'll overcome but alas and alack The smell of rising dough just seems to stab me in the back This symbiant feeds off me as I gorge upon its flesh And my attempts to conquer it are marginal - at best The truthful path to happiness is what I most desire But yet the path I choose to walk is paved with tight attire Buying bigger clothes would be a way to make amends but Money is a joke that I discuss with all my friends Vanity keeps me from moving on to larger sizes Self-esteem flees from me with my morning scale surprises Pain becomes a part of me when I put on my jeans Because of how the waistband cuts so deep into my spleen Food. Not song, or dance, or even following my dreams Not writing silly poems or saying funny things Not feeling good, not working hard, not fitting in my clothes Filling my gut with sustenance but not filling the holes This relationship waits for me at the end of every day It's never late, it's always there, faithful in every way You have to ask yourself sometimes, “what kind of friend is that?” Who gives me what I think I want no matter how I act? My ankles swell, my belly too, my butt hangs kinda' low I can sit in for the fat sidekick in any TV show - but As soon as I convince myself that food is not my friend This one-sided relationship will all come to an end Today when I arise I'll pledge an archetypal goal To overcome this food addition pulling on my soul