SONG: BITE MY HIP Gluttony, the sin he can't seem to let go of. click to read
Gluttony is a cathedral built of appetite, its stained glass windows glowing with molten honey and dripping fat, its pews carved from the bones of feasts long forgotten. It is not hunger. Hunger is honest and spare... but a velvet-throated choir that sings even after the belly pleads for silence. In the court of excess, platters arrive like obedient moons, orbiting a single, insatiable sun, and every bite is a small coronation of desire. Fingers gleam with salt and sugar, lips shine like lacquered fruit, and the air grows heavy with the perfume of roasted flesh and caramelized dreams. Time loosens its belt; restraint is dismissed from the table; gratitude is drowned in sauces rich as melted gold. Gluttony swells beyond the body that hosts it, a tide that refuses the shoreline, a silk napkin stained with wanting. It devours not only bread and wine but also pause, proportion, and the quiet grace of enough, until the feast becomes a furnace and the heart, overfed and undernourished, beats slow beneath the weight of its own abundance.
