Quoted By:
>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 'round
>Trying to catch that feeling
>And the paint on its 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
