We will shoot the family dog in the backyard,
And then tell the kids we dropped it off down at the dairy farm.
Screaming from the forest sounds like fifty babies being murdered.
In Italian horror films about baby murders.
Pretty all black fisher cats sing songs of rage,
Cuz the world is dark and unfair and you haven’t found a mate.
Cry in sync with crows at six,
I’m bored and forced to think,
about the cycle of life and all of that bullshit.
When it’s quiet I’m forced to think about myself.
So I’m speaking through the silence to nobody else.
Pretty black fisher cat convince me that it will be alright,
Claw my face off, so I won’t have to wash it tonight.
Yeah, claw my face off, so I won’t have to wear it tonight.

I’ve become what I’ve hated most, too many times to count.
If I can’t trust myself, then I won’t trust a soul.

Animals biting chunks of each other's flesh,
All reside inside my mind before I settle down to rest,
There's images of people of biting my neck, dicing my chest.
And simmering my meat in fry-pans for breakfast.
With my dick and balls and guts ground up, and stuffed into a sausage wrapper,
Grilled to a shade of Seattle grey, surrounded by their laughter,
I… can’t trust myself, so I won’t trust a soul.
If they eat me I will haunt them forever,
Come back in virus form or parasitic worm.
Intestines of all my enemies will bleed,
And they'll regret the day they ever fucked with me.

We were broke and fed the hamster to the dog,
We were broke again and cut the dog’s tail off.
Made some dog-tail soup with mustard packets from seven-eleven,
Oh little Jimmy, all dogs to to heaven.
No don’t cry Jimmy, all dogs go to heaven.