Judgement

I sell dust from a house of cards To ghosts stuck in traffic driving recently sold cars I carry baskets of writhing fruit To jug lifting dancers who flicker away on the longest routes There are scanners and wires on every street There's a man with a gun watching us while we sleep And he keeps on promising to change As he fucks us right in the face and pisses on our graves I will never be able to take off my skin stuck welding mask it might just keep me safe when the doors kicked down and the room is filled with gas Little man with a big fucking gun Your time will soon come We will tear you limb from fucking limb Then boil your leathery curdled skin There's a pitchfork for your gut There's a bus driver who's had quite enough Spotless office walls will be sprayed red The streetlights will dangle polished heads Your contracts will be chewed to mush There will be nowhere for you to rush Drag you out onto the streets Have you begging on your knees Only then will your eyes adjust you might see what its like for the rest of us. Bandcamp: https://phanuelstongue.bandcamp.com/album/jungle-with-a-municipality Streaming: https://push.fm/fl/ptb9uafb Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/phanuelstongue/