Pitchfork

You're a robot with a flattop like a copper with a pork chop

Sold to the state, you're a Hollywood date, and you've got blistering head shots

Dripping down the runway, the blacktop, you bellhop

You're jealous and grim, you're all shadowed and thin, and you're ducking in doorways

There's a gun under your pillow it's warm scotch and cold blood

Dying alone, disconnecting the phone, but the crowd's still screaming!

Bloodless lips curling into cruelty & I race straight for them

Fat little devil with a tiny plastic pitchfork

He's laughing again, the wall are closing in, and he's dancing with your girlfriend

Where you've been pacing back and forth the sulphur still lingers

A smokescreen, a crime scene, and the people crowd around to see

Feeling like a strip of bacon, smelling like a rotten egg

Concrete fields full of rebar trees, you're like a board with a nail through it

--a pitchfork might do it

Bloodless lips curling into cruelty & I race straight for them

They're coming for you, another skeleton crew

No sense of direction, you're a lethal injection, I got a voodoo doll that looks like you

Blacked out windows like some semiconscious eyes

Unblinking, unthinking, they're forcing you inside

And now you're surrounded

Pitchforks raised, pineappled in the face – it's a tropical mace,

it puts you in your place, you're like a board with a nail through it – a pitchfork might do it

you're like a board with a nail through it – a pitchfork might do it

you're like a board with a nail through it

Bloodless lips curling into cruelty & I race straight for them

The problem is all over the sidewalk now.

Copyright 2010

E.W. Borg