yeah he gives a pigeon prayer
to the pavement
a brave slave doing his payment
for the president of the united flakes.
black market steaks full of red juice
in the haze of a hot afternoon.
hearing screams from the yard
for a new start with a tune.
earn it baby, he says, earn it
and gives you that grin of filth.

it makes you feel loose and free
the whole basket filled with grilled words
turned up in the heat like sweet jesus
sweatening in a baptiste church.
you come home and see it
starving to death.

you don’t go to church on sun day
because you don’t care
but there’s one thing you’re believing in
that there is pigeons
always there.

Cute cruel boy
that jack in the box
taken his sis off you
and taken the rest, too
given you a bad smell
and the pox.

leaving with the wings
tied to your body
your skin all muddy
let you sing.