Friday, January 20, 2017

do come here, gentleman, touch how soft their fleece is
which of these you take home is up yours to decide
cut her open and pick out your favourite pieces
cash or card; here the tax is already applied

in a field of raw meat it’s a buyer’s market
and you’ve been looking around for something new
you came in with a knife and I was your target
in a shape of a heart I was looking at you

cravings come in a wave for a bite that’s blood fresh
let me finish my job so you could do your crimes
even though I’m aware you’re not worthy of my flesh
for your teeth on my bones I’d die a hundred times

witness my liquid red dripping through your fingers
grab a feel of my skin while it is still warm
in the back of your head there’s a thought that lingers
beneath you lies something you have no right to harm

do come here, little lamb, come here to the slaughter
sweet music to my ears is your dying sound

you’re a butcher’s son, I am someone’s daughter
a purchase deal where justice cannot be found

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