In the studio halls (Master's call)
Where ambitions simmer and dreams are tall
He saunters by, with gleaming eyes
A guise of charm that belies his lies
In whispered tones (subtle moans)
He weaves his web of words unknown
But beneath the grin, a darker tale
Of fleeting glances and hearts set sail

He struts around like he's supreme,
With whispers soft, but so obscene,
In the kitchen's light, his shadow looms,
Yet all we hear are whispers of doom.

In his own world, sees only bright,
But to us, he's lost in the night.
In the kitchen's realm (so he claims)
He's the king with hollow praises
With jokes too crude and a gaze too bold,
As the pressure of the oven grows cold

With forks and knives, he wields command,
But those comments weren't part of the plan.
In front of the flames, the tension stews,
Underneath the shine, he's blurred and confused.

In the wings of the stage (darkened haze)
His laughter echoes through the daze
With every judge's look, he thinks he shines
But the truth's obscured by glossy lines

He ambles on with swagger fake,
In the kitchen heat, the doubt awakes
With smirks as shallow as his views,
And around him, awkwardness ensues

In the spotlight's glare (truth laid bare)
Behind that smile, his manners wear
He jokes and jests, but with intent
Leaving contestants unsure, their spirits spent

In the kitchen game, he holds command
But the respect once there slips through his hands
Under the bright lights, where tension grows
His façade crumbles, and the kitchen knows

The Masterchefs

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