from by OWNER



This is out of hand
It has hit the fan
with no warning
Just try to sleep
and hope it greets you better
in the morning
All the sterile cries
that the butcher pries
from the weeping of a willow
Your grin is wincing
tongues on your pillow

As we try to evade the rumors
we've taken after
Serrated like the open tin
of canned laughter

And I'm reading the fine print
in the dark, tryin' to ruin my eyes
So I don't have to bear witness
to the fruition of your lies
And this thing that you call a gift
And this thing that you call a surprise
are just mounds of blank paperwork
in which your empty heart is disguised

I have hit a rut
I'm a hunger slut
puking in the gutter
How the congregation
at the celebration
starts to mutter
Tries to justify
how the shit of the pie
to the suffering is allocated
In the virgin land
Where the spurted gland
of the good lord masturbated

(chorus) x1

Shapeless in the road
the dead beast that you goad
Cancer eats the node
Engines unstarted
When King Dumb has cum
he sits and sucks his thumb
He flicks the famine crumbs
of broken bargain
You've gotta pay to get your slice of health
Keep your poor sick fingers off our wealth

(Chorus) x1


from Shame Face, released January 21, 2015
Words by Dylan Regier



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