New Sense

Why does this place still exist?
Seriously, what's its purpose?
A nuissance, this new belonging.
A new sense of your wrong doing.
Loose ends and frayed connections.
A noose wound in strange surroundings.

The present is not but memory and dream
held together with sinew and loose seams,
old wounds we hold onto
and loved lights we'd like to.

Cut the scab right off your lip.
Feed it to the pigs that run this place.
They'll eat it up,
can never get enough.
They roll around in the shit they push.
They roll around in this shit. The sick fucks!

Rub the shine right off your face.
Feed it to the pigs who run this shit.
Eat it up.
Never get enough.
They roll around in the shit they push.
They roll around in their stuff, these fucks!