labels never quite accomplish what I want out of life
and malapropism always matched your eyes
this tabernacle choir is a transvestite wet dream
a total fucking travesty dressed in silken robes
you're dressed to the nines and too drunk to kill
might as well wait for the tide to come in
bringing shores ever closer and sea monsters
the scarring is compounded on my aggravated flesh
your puckered lips awaiting, the lams ripeif only you'd notice, if only you'd care
for my slaughter, I'd do anything for you
and crush their heads under my boots
about yourself, this is no circus freakshow
you value yourself about as much as ethics
and you can't stop yourself from shoplifting
so there's just that, and you are here
with desire rife with pathos and apathy
some kind of misanthrope jesus
with hazy eyes and pierced ears.
No comments:
Post a Comment