Eleventh Century Folklore

Arched back and a couple of slit wrists
How often can you tell me that I can't love you
Just maybe I can
Just maybe I can

Somehow I'll break those arms
And someday I'll break those arms
Watching Jesus Christ
Emerge in the form of a firearm

I sit back and relax
I sit back and relax
My wife of forty years
I raped her

He began that day like any other
Holding hands with savory little beauties
Let them know that you love them
And tell them all you want is to be cared for

That's all you want
Is to be cared for
That's all you want
Is to be cared for
Is to be cared for

Her eyes were calm
And her hands were cold

5. Trophy Wives

Shake, shake, shake
Loose that single gleam of hope left in your chest
Gone are the days of sunshine
The days of sunshine, I promise

Breath taking photographs
Of dreams long forgotten
Your ship has sank

Wrong place, wrong time
Squeal once more for papa
This is not about money, oh no
This is a sport

Hair that smells of fear and
Eyes that scream, solitude
Companionship is just another
Fucking curse

You can't buy friends like this
You can't buy friends like this
You can't buy friends like this

Bite and scratch all you like
Bite and scratch all you like
Trophies of black, blue and red