Dead Meat

 

I've got shrapnel in my jaw bone from the words I never said,
I've got salt in my open wounds from the factory where I slave.
 
Black loss devouring finger bones, chrome xylophone rib cages, dusty lungs and bluesman ship.

On your feet dead meat, on your feet,
God's Green Earth doesn't exist for the colour blind, son.
So I'm stuck with my love, in this skin, where I broke it off and buried it within.
On your feet dead meat, on your feet,
Let's carry on, carry on, carrion.