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Benny, You're a Dead Man
He's out back burning copper pipes
She's in the house, concreted to the couch,
gripped by oxysleep
Two little girls wander the dirty floors
And one has this thick look about her
They are one and two
And you have four eyes following you
And one has this withered glaze
Someone said that Benny walked in,
took her clothes off and she never
was the same again
Oh God.
Addicts are killers.
Killers of dreams. Killers of futures.
Killers of little baby girls.
Love taker. Indian giver.
I hope you swallow the whole bottle
And I hope Benny takes a bullet in his dick
What could have been more important?
The pills?
The high? The thrill?
A sugared reality is for pussies and weaklings
I pray that you choke off the drug smoke you
blow over their heads
One and two.
How could you?
