Troublemeat

It's a wild thing, a brittle thing
Some know it as the instrument of yearning
It knows you will capitulate
You're beeswax and the forest fires are burning
It can have a lot of mates
Break a lot of plates
Make it to the end in one piece
But it's still a mystery

It's not some mighty vision
It's more a dirty polaroid of history
This thing has claws
And poison spores
This is a dirty bomb that blows off all the doors

It's what I call the trouble meat
The trouble meat

It's an old lodge potato thing
But all your good sense cannot hold a candle
It's another pissing contest
Between the devil and the nice guy with the sandals
You want to say it's underpaid
Put it in the sink
Take it to the landfill
Then go home and take a shower

It leaves its greasy tide mark
In a place where cleaning products cannot scour
This bitch got wheels
It mass appeals
And you will surely not remember how it feels

That's why it's called the trouble meat
The trouble meat

It's an unprepossessing thing
A livid boy at the funny house of reason

It fucks with me perpetually
The filthy little monkey in its season

Hey, I bite away your teeth
Get up on the heath
Howling in the pouring rain
And find out who will listen
I don't like to admit it
I sometimes think I live just for this frisson
It licks its lips
Swivels its hips
You think it's elegant
But it's as cheap as chips

This lousy thing called trouble meat
The trouble meat