Bobby Bland Testo

Meat without speech
Locked in a toolshed
Meat without a name
Rent by the light of candle
Meat without will
Meat without a voice
And wobbling in darkness
In a dance misery preordained

A mother and father Do not have to be
A biological disaster
They could be
Kindred spirits
And weirdly moving

Meat without sense
Meat without a mind
Meat that takes
Gored by the whims a Grendle
Confront the friction and feather
Of obsessive obliteration

A brother and sistеr
Do not have to be
A biological disaster
Thеy could be
Kindred spirits
And weirdly moving
Threatened by someone
Who is already threatened
Standing up to them all
Like a single polka dot