Meat Sunday
Lenin McCarthy
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He sticks his eye out
Like cellophane
She brings her throat out
A bulging vein
all the things that they want
to their friends they will flaunt
buried between the lines
A single list
It shifts
It rips
It splts
It sticks
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Assemble your lines
Bring out your dead
Flash your best cards
Power ahead
The battle has begun
This time nobody won
White knuckles black eyes
A loaded gun
It shifts
It rips
It spits
It sticks
The ties
Are broke
When lies
Are spoke