You're always in some room where you cannot throw something
Blood simmer reducing syrup consistency
Vapors filter into a receptacle
Fed to a network of curated spectacle

Short leash for social creeps
Stored deep for centuries
Silent screams of the social creeps
On screen for folks to see

I know where you live
'Cause I looked at your pics
I know you're a pig
From the boots that you lick

Russian doll flesh layered onto itself twitching
Inside a box might as well be of your making
Long nails whittling sculptures from coffin wood
Surface is quaking with murderous pachyderms

Short leash for social creeps
The dead speak and post their feet
Silent screams of the social creeps
Violent dreams of the social creeps

I know where you live
'Cause I looked at your pics
I know you're a pig
From the boots that you lick

I know where you live
'Cause I looked at your pics
I know you're a pig
From the boots that you lick

You talk all your shit
Without moving your lips
I'll roll in the filth beneath this lid