Face down in the dirt the conversation pit
Sits seemingly in it's white and yellow waste,
Made of such stuff that walks the earth for
Generations until it's burned by drunken teenage boys.
After twelve nights straight on a bed of concrete
The giant piss pillow is a showroom mattress,
Only there's no scared shitless stock boy calling
His manager to kick the trash to the curb.
So instead of calling sanitation, turn it upright
So your disgust can be one man's vacation from
The dark prison breeze of the lake in winter,
Where no man is guilty no matter what you think.
God damn the man who watches his waste
Like the great right eye of misery and greed.
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