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Bukowski Family
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Feces of Love
Elliott was his name and he used to throw a show
in a local redneck joint, humiliating herself, feeling pretty.
A couple of hours a day, she's the highschool beauty queen,
ten bucks a pop, he's taking the shots
in the shadow of the truck park.
Fishnet stockings and lush red lips, playin' gal with those fat manhips.
Standing under a streetlight, smoking,
waiting for the next trick, to suck another dick.
Soon comes a trucker, a dirty old fucker,
walking in shadows, asking the price,
Elliott The Lot Lizard bends his knees.
GET TO WORK!
He takes a hit in the head!
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A candle burns on the old wooden table, panic hits the brain.
Can't feel his legs, numb from the waist down, tied tightly in the chair.
A bowl of soup and a meatcleaver, that burned and mutilated face,
sitting next to the wall, naked, covered with blood and guts
silent, just staring, sharpening the knife.
It stands and walks slowly to the table,
pours some soup on the plate and starts to feed Elliott.
The soup is hot and it burns his already tormented cheeks,
Elliott tries to fight, he cannot eat, it's disgusting,
but the spoon is showed through the cheek.
He's always been the feces of love.
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