Home Town

Home Town

Born and they grew in the soil of their kin.
Born and they grew as they followed the dead.
Dreams ripped from seams from the roots of their kind.
Dead flower beds (withering inside.)                                                                                                       

Born and they grew. Born and they grew. Born and they grew. 
Born and they grew. I used to look like you. Be like you.
If you only knew. (Only knew.) 
                                                                                                  
I watched them rip Dahlia to shreds. 
Winged creatures that flew out of my head.
She had a stick up her back so the crows could pick 
the straw of lies from the bitch on the crucifix.

Born and they grew, but SHE gave in. 
So pretty. It's a pity. She'll die a Christian.
One day she'll be saved by her oppressive faith.
And grow in the field that her hometown made.

She was my roadside genocide triggering the end times. 
Eyes of a Gemini slithering like serpentine. 
Roadside genocide triggering the end times. 
Eyes of a Gemini slithering... DEEP INSIDE!

Because deep inside this barren earth,
the saplings grow for bitter worth.
Insects dissect their hopeless hearts
and sell their dreams as abstract art.  

Born and they grew. Born and they grew. Born and they grew. 
Born and they grew. I used to look like you. Be like you.
If you only knew. (Only knew.) 

Anthem of the Sour and Rotten

Anthem of the Sour and Rotten

She said, the world was dead inside her head. 

Her evil heart was the dark in this overgrow wasteland.

And if you persecute them all together, You’ll bring the kingdom to its knees. 

And send word of your sovereignty- across the lands.

Our harpies will pry the babies from their hands.

Demented wizards raise scepters for the possession.

(We, who appease the whirlwinds of desert sands.)

Hear the instruments of war being strung.

And witness the possession of your first born son.

Demons infest the prince as we lightly drum.

Your child is defiled and immune to exorcisms.

From the balcony the whole village sees

Their future king falling down to his knees

Their eyes glaze over with a hopeless despair 

as they view their new queen and her child-like heir.

Praise the witch. The seven year itch.

The racy racist, born of a son of a bitch.

Praise the witch. The seven year itch.

The sexy sexist, born of a son of a bitch.

She’s never coming back again, She’s aching for disaster. Sour....Sow err!

She sours your intentions and plagues your dimensions. Sour...Sow err!

Faster by the hour, the prince loses his willpower. Sour...Sow err!

Hear the instruments of war being strung.

And witness the possession of your first born son.

Demons infest the prince as we lightly drum.

Your child is defiled and immune to exorcisms.

From the balcony the whole village sees

Their future king falling down to his knees

Their eyes glaze over with a hopeless despair 

as they view their new queen and her child-like heir.

(Praise the witch!!!)