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.