Eleventh Century Folklore

Arched back and a couple of slit wrists

How often can you tell me that I can't love you

Just maybe I can

Just maybe I can

Somehow I'll break those arms

And someday I'll break those arms

Watching Jesus Christ

Emerge in the form of a firearm

I sit back and relax

I sit back and relax

My wife of forty years

I raped her

He began that day like any other

Holding hands with savory little beauties

Let them know that you love them

And tell them all you want is to be cared for

That's all you want

Is to be cared for

That's all you want

Is to be cared for

Is to be cared for

Her eyes were calm

And her hands were cold

5. Trophy Wives

Shake, shake, shake

Loose that single gleam of hope left in your chest

Gone are the days of sunshine

The days of sunshine, I promise

Breath taking photographs

Of dreams long forgotten

Your ship has sank

Wrong place, wrong time

Squeal once more for papa

This is not about money, oh no

This is a sport

Hair that smells of fear and

Eyes that scream, solitude

Companionship is just another

Fucking curse

You can't buy friends like this

You can't buy friends like this

You can't buy friends like this

Bite and scratch all you like

Bite and scratch all you like

Trophies of black, blue and red