Slaughterhouse

(альбом: The Tragedian's Decoupage - 2011)

The night was ripe and I was picking grapes off it
Taken off at like midnight, then I'd say softly
That it wouldn't be met with what normally bested
Me, which be whiskey and weed but indeed
It did, and I was gone like a cough to a lozenge
Walked up in a house to 'em all doing dollar hits of coke
While talking cognitive, rhetoric like philosopher's
About death, life, love, just pondering
Solving themselves these shells of truth
That they'll lose once their high's through
And I guess that defines youth
Then there's poets praying for plagues or bombs
So they'll have something more to write in essays or songs
'Cause they're bored of war and can't do shit about politics
So get real fucking drunk and then imagine they can abolish it
But then they'll get old, and have some kids of their own
Then those kids will say the same shit 'till their old
And it repeats over and over
And watch the news they're still
Saying that the world's fucked and they've got it on film
Like, yeah, kill, kill, kill, did everybody die?
Double that, we need ratings, call it, umm, a genocide!
Then after a 2-hundred thousand dollar commercial
We're shown kids blown to bits
In a country we've never heard of
Then some have the nerve to comment like they know shit
Sayin, "Oh, that's God punishing the heathens' indulgence"
And they believe it, because passion with a good voice
Passes as fact to like half of those who hear the noise
So bon voyage and whatnot or whatever
I'll sever ties with my senses forever
I'm so existential and selfishly bitter
Like, look, take my rights but
Leave me my liquor (Leave us our liquor!)

Then I see all these women wearing make up for the sake of
Perfecting the face that appears when they wake up
And I wonder what it'd be like to live as a girl
Where your face isn't good enough to show to the world
It's odd, a woman's life is a fashion show
And a guy's not a guy unless he's smashing those
And they say, we're all free in most ways
But what most don't calculate
Is that we're slaves mostly to culture
Giving ulcers to a kid who likes pink
'Cause when Daddy calls him faggot, he likes blue to be abiding
Or a girl who was lonely, and was forced to pretend
But then blew a bunch of dudes and had a room full of friends
Then we're all Che 'til our youth runs out
A bunch of Bolsheviks, that conform somehow
I see kids pushing world peace out their mouths
And to them I say, no, the world's a fucking slaughterhouse

We're all living on stolen roads
A peace sign's just fashionable
So I'll be sitting here
See you when you save the world
Or when you wake up and you save yourself