domingo, abril 03, 2011
Filthy Fish Bowl
As the african plays the drum
The dishes pile up in the sink
The dishes pile up in the sink
I am best so
Who needs a woman to wash them
Filling the music with filthy words?
As the african plays the drum
She calls me at 2 in the morning
I pay the cab from Brooklyn to The Bronx
She comes into my bedroom
She falls asleep as a porcupine.
As the african plays the drum
She talks in her sleep
A name of a man is said
A name of a woman is cursed
A name of an island is longed for.
As the african plays the drum
My blood is filled with maggots
My voice turns into a scream
My goldfish is finally dead
Of breathing filthy water and hunger.
Suscribirse a Entradas [Atom]
