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Bukowski Family
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Flayed Skin Trapestry
a pickup truck cruising
the memory lane, she's leaving
the watering hole, heading home
she's just what we need
a whack in the mug, we pick up the slut
now make our way to the merry old swamp
clubbed and bagged the shit bitch screams
we duct tape her head so tight she can barely breathe
back at the farm the stench so rank
as we inhale it with every breath
wounds infected in the summer breeze
old bite marks show where the new skin grows
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teeth sink at the starting line
we have all the time in the world
vile fingers penetrating through flesh
nerves tear as we rip the skin apart
pain is your enemy, cause you know you're still alive
we gather to harvest the new skin
endless cycle of torment
as their hope slowly fades
the flayed skin tapestry is made
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