Spilling Open

I watch the buzzards gather but no-one's dead today…
Like sheep they follow after and promise not to stray.
Her darling little bastards scarred with elitist black
But I know when I stab her — it won’t be in her back!
I’m spilling open inside my house of leaves,
It doesn’t matter what’s been said — it’s what my heart believes!
It seems the hive is buzzing the bees protect their queen…
While snakes with poison venom
Appear upon the scene
So ugly in their hatred God bless the Maybelline
So arrogant that when she cuts
It’s done for all to see!
I’m spilling open it’s killing all of me!
And I hate I’ve become from what’s been done to me!
Homecoming queens are pretty from being dressed in pink…
But perfume can’t disguise a pig and I can smell her stink…
Miss Ann Thrope once said to me with words that tasted sweet —
But now the slaughterhouse has turned her voice to meat!
(Not everybody’s everything they ever claim to be,
Not everything is black and white friend or mine enemy…
I guess it doesn’t really matter when there’s nothing left…
Sometimes you gotta let it go and just enjoy the death!)