Every night comes this pursed old lady
Her crumbly hair bun always looks shady
Wearing grey with the same stain on her clothes
Comes to fix us a gruelly old supper
The same old thing poured in cups her
Nasty dish that tightens up my nose
It smells of liver milkshake I propose
It leaves every skin pore fast exposed
Death to crimble.
It clambers in my throat.
Lines my inner stomach like a coat.
Death to crimble.
I’d rather eat a slug.
Does anyone have cow pee I could chug?
I can’t eat another thimble
Of this crimble.
I swear the leftovers twitch alive at night.
It slowly rises from the plate upright.
And tries to gag me slowly in my sleep.
I suspect the crimble’s murderous.
It’s making my life crazy stressed.
Or maybe it’s the old lady whose the creep.
Always knew her glass eye hears me breathe.
Always thought there was malice underneath.
Death to crimble.
It clambers in my throat.
Lines my inner stomach like a coat.
Death to crimble.
I’d rather eat a slug.
Does anyone have cow pee I could chug?
I can’t eat another thimble
Of this crimble.
credits
from Mystifacts,
released February 12, 2015
(Kowalski)
Guitar and Hand Claps: Joe Kowalski
Trumpets: Matt Giella
Alto Saxophone: Nathan Masden (www.madsenstudios.com)
Trombone: Ross McCrae
