Thursday, May 6, 2010

“Winged Fever” [From the Vault]

2007 again. Some of it fits the here and now, I think.


I called her sweet number

To form a disease from down under

A cure for my fierce jubilee

These pills won’t come for free

Do you like these iron fists

In your mouth when I’m pissed

Lightning will take our heads

When we run from the feds

Your skull is going to fall out

So tell me what this is about

There’s a beast in your face

Tearing you apart in place

Intestines like rain drops

And the beeping finally stops

Catching her with some stud

This phone call’s all covered in blood

Piano keys and dying trees.

Guitar strings for wedding rings.

Your face is much prettier

Fleshless without exterior

Can you hear the birds scream

For the lucid chainsaw dream

From poverty to tax on property

Your heart’s on fish hooks probably

Eaten away by bloodthirsty rats and mice

I’ll tear away the vice president’s vice

A leather whip taken to an attorney

You’ll find your bones on this journey

Through solace and infinite destruction

I’m bonding with a lost connection

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