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Sick of your meat pies

by Scott Ezell

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michaelaldrich
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Sound collage with loops, typewriter, helicopter, crickets, spoken words, and anarchy guitar.

lyrics

I’m sick of your meat pies in my lunch box every day…sick of your fingers in my grandmother’s womb…I’m exhausted by the thousand skins you shed each more toxic than the last…sick of your diseased hair dye…sick of the false deals you claim you’re swinging for me…sick of your mouth like a suppurating wound…sick of your iceberg lettuce and bologna…sick of your cheap mafia polyester style…sick of the way you rape my sanity and act like I should thank you…sick of being sick of you…tired of the drool and vomit on your lips…tired of your face like an acned weasel begging for affection…sick of pork bellies with your name stamped on them…sick of being shown the children you kill and humiliate…sick of people lining up behind you like sycophants at a gang rape…sick of hearing screams of animals you kick for fun…sick of you sticking your fork in every bite of food I eat…sick of your tattooed thugs at the border aiming automatic weapons at me…sick of your ridicule of people with dignity...sick of your tv dinners…sick of your stomach contents in the autopsy tray next to my morning coffee every day…sick of the coward-yellow merkin on your head…sick of your pornographic clown smile…sick of your limousine idling in my living room and poisoning my air…sick of canned mushroom soup…sick of white bread and corn oil… sick of you gaffing the fish in the koi pond…sick of you pissing on the doormat…sick of being force fed your shit to test it for poison…sick of you scratching your initials on the back of every greyhound seat…sick of being a pacifist in a time of mass murder…sick of you masturbating into my coffin…sick of your barcode on my beer…sick of you ordering appendectomies and selling organs to the highest bidder…sick of your gums receding from your teeth they don’t like you either…sick of your ear wax on my napkin…sick of you treating my hours and minutes like chips in a poker game…sick of you washing your genitals upstream in the river we drink from…sick of you razoring out pages of my memory…sick of you pressing razor blades against my wrists…sick of you adding saccharin to my coffee…sick of you rubbing my hand sanitizer on your groin…

I’m sick of the police lynchings you don’t condemn…sick of the pores in your face opening to embrace me with slicks of oil…sick of your hamburgers made from the meat of my brain…sick of your tapered fingers probing at my prostate…sick of your pale hands signing orders for blood and offal to be poured from helicopters…sick of the grease and bones of your casino towers…sick of the minions giving you whatever card you need to win…sick of your cowardice that never held a knife though you order child armies to die…

sick of your distemper making me vomit blood…sick of your esophagus lined with chancres…sick of watching you saw horns off animals in the zoo…sick of the placentas you add to your bath water…sick of your insomnia go fuck yourself in your sleep…sick of the shell game you force me to play with a gun pointed at my heart…

I’m sick of your meat pies in my lunch box every day
I’m sick of your meathooks in our bodies every day
I’m sick of your meathooks in our bodies every day
I’m sick of your meat pies in my lunch box every day

credits

released June 5, 2020
Scott Ezell is responsible for it all.

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about

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Scott Ezell

Scott Ezell is a Pacific Rim writer and multi-genre artist with a background in Asia, border zones, and indigenous peoples. His music spans folk, ambient, and experimental styles.

www.scottezell.com

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