I Smell Pulp

Sew on a smile
And punch a new drywall hole
The fragrances of living
The taste of the things you stole

Slide buck blades across his fore arms
And put one in his knee
And when he's down, kick him some
But don't tell him it's from me

The punishment for trying
Is to wind up with the knife
The punishment for dying
Is to live another life

The crooked cracks of freedom
The fragments in your head
The fragrances of living
The stench of being dead