Body for the Pile

And it's stains in the wainscotting Cracks in the baseboard Arachnid in the corner serving up face Like whose house you think this is? Prism vision in low light Scan prison tats on the back of a low life lifeless And a broke nose might just be done drippin' Wet all night It dries deep red on the off white carpet And a soft light arcs just above arm height All white Vans placed on the floor Pack of Pall Mall lights Bite marks on a half sandwich with no crust Mustard and mayonnaise Lettuce and red cold cuts Moonlight streams through window dust It floats up to the ceiling fan that creaks from rust As it labors to go around Trying to catch that feeling And the paint on his base is peeling And the taste in the air is faint but there Just enough that the rats are nearing Cause where there's blood there's feast and famine Makes murder a meal And the cheap wall clock will stop at one shot So he knew it was time to kill Bust one shot if your blood still pumping Bust two shots if you're really 'bout something Three little pigs and they can't do nothing for the last time You can't run, you just a body for the pile, body for the pile Body for the pile, body for the pile You just a body for the pile, body for the pile And you should probably take your last breath right about now Office highly decorated Plastic frames around diplomas, all the commendations Accommodating swivel chair where the blue suited sir sits slumped Brains splattered, wall stained, grey matter runs Badge with his name makes blood on the tongue 'Cause it's pinned to his right cheek Right where the gun must have first flirted Before it was stuck in his mouth Officer, with his brains blown out Water pitcher with the ice Two glasses one either side Of the desk the lipstick left on one appears to smile wide And the slatted blinds are squinting just enough For the sunrise to zebra stripe the room with light He would have had to shield his eyes But they wide open, no motion No, he never flinched Palms flat on the table, didn't seem to move an inch Fish bowl on the far side of the room Where goldfish swims around Suspicious of the gun that now sits in the bowl with him Bust one shot if your blood still pumping Bust two shots if you're really 'bout something Three little pigs and they can't do nothing for the last time You can't run, you just a body for the pile, body for the pile Body for the pile, body for the pile You just a body for the pile, body for the pile And you should probably take your last breath right about now Red and blue light spinning On the corner by the new fried chicken spot Cop car hopped the curb then absurdly hit the hydrant Which wouldn't stop Spraying water that's dripping over the face That's made its way through the windshield And cuttin' bleedin' the people leaving the scene and saying they never seen him Coming but he must have run the light, he never rolled Hand is reaching for the gun but couldn't get a hold So, it's sitting limp up on the dash And all the flashing of the cameras is lighting up the noontime cold Overcast broken glass On the concrete the scent of gasoline Hovers over the motor smoke And the single broken bicycle spoke wheel still protruding The medics moving the little twisted body to bag it up Detective notices the traffic camera then calls the station to back it up And somewhere the screams turn into sobs And the sirens mix with the howls of dogs And from the water the rolling fog Scented wet, it's the breath of God They say in the greyscale city Where the skies are scraped And the days are pretty much shaded You never know the faithful, they walk and they pray And there's one less lung sucking air today so Bust one shot if your blood still pumping Bust two shots if you're really 'bout something Three little pigs and they can't do nothing for the last time You can't run, you just a body for the pile, body for the pile Body for the pile, body for the pile You just a body for the pile, body for the pile And you should probably take your last breath right about now