Morning mash, muscle mess.
A base, a platform and the stress.

The seasonal change of your waist. From:

S

to

M

onto

L
and Excel.

The drill, now peckish and tracking the smell.
Below lay the soup - the precious puree.  

So, 20 set out. Gloved routine, greasing the grunt - releasing the eel.
When,
something got stuck in my eye.

On the shore, a spirit, in dancing distress.
Signalling mercy - calling for less.
There was then that sound. 

The cracking of pillars - your spine