Correction Paroles Body for the Pile par clipping. & Sickness

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Paroles

And it's stains in the wainscotting, cracks in the baseboard
Arachnid in the corner serving up face
Like whose house you think this is?
Prism vision in low light
Scan prison tats on the back of a low-life, lifeless
And a broke nose might just be done drippin'
Wet all night, it dries deep red on the off-white carpet
And a soft light arcs just above arm height
All white Vans placed on the floor, pack of Pall Mall lights
Bite marks on a half sandwich with no crust
Mustard and mayonnaise, lettuce and red cold cuts
Moonlight streams through window dust
It floats up to the ceiling fan that creaks from rust as it labors to go 'round
Trying to catch that feeling
And the paint on its base is peeling
And the taste in the air is faint but there, just enough that the rats are nearing
'Cause where there's blood, there's feast and famine, makes murder a meal
And the cheap wall clock will stop at one shot, so he knew it was time to kill

Bust one shot if your blood's still pumping
Bust two shots if you're really 'bout something
Three little pigs and they can't do nothing, for the last time
You can't run, you just a body for the pile, body for the pile
Body for the pile, body for the pile
You just a body for the pile, body for the pile
And you should probably take your last breath right about now

Office highly decorated
Plastic frames around diplomas, all the commendations
Accommodating swivel chair where the blue-suited sir sits slumped
Brains splattered, wall stained, grey matter runs
Badge with his name makes blood on the tongue
'Cause it's pinned to his right cheek
Right where the gun must have first flirted before it was stuck in his mouth
Officer *bleep* with his brains blown out
Water pitcher with the ice, two glasses, one either side
Of the desk, the lipstick left on one appears to smile wide
And the slanted blinds are squinting just enough for the sunrise
To zebra stripe the room with light, he would have had to shield his eyes
But they wide open, no motion, no, he never flinched
Palms flat on the table, didn't seem to move an inch
Fishbowl on the far side of the room where goldfish swims around
Suspicious of the gun that now sits in the bowl with him

Red and blue lights spinning on the corner by the new fried chicken spot
Cop car hopped the curb then absurdly hit the hydrant, which wouldn't stop
Spraying water that's dripping over the face that's made its way through the windshield
And cuttin' bleedin' the people leaving the scene and saying they never seen him
Coming but he must have run the light, he never broke (Broke)
Hand is reaching for the gun but couldn't get a hold (Hold)
So it's sitting limp up on the dash and all the flashing of the cameras is lighting up the noontime cold
Overcast, broken glass on the concrete, the scent of gasoline
Hovers over the motor smoke and the single broken bicycle spoke
Wheel still protruding, the medics moving the little twisted body to bag it up
Detective notices the traffic camera then calls the station to back it up
And somewhere the screams turn into sobs
And the sirens mix with the howls of dogs
And from the water, the rolling fog
Scented wet as the breath of God
They say in the greyscale city where the skies are scraped and the days are pretty much shaded
You never know the faithful, they walk and they pray and there's one less lung sucking air today, so

clip

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