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• Artiste: Kilgore Smudge
• Titre: Fridgafloor
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INCORRECT: avant la mauvaise ligne
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Wrap my head in cellophane, And place it in my Kenmore, Maybe when we're not so full, We can eat it all by four, Thoughts drip out from the ears, And fall into my open beer, Penetrate the hardwood floors, And fester there forevermore, Evermore, Don't close that door, I'm in your floor, Evermore... Everything here that you see, Is right in here in front of me, Wipe your feet before my head, And think no thoughts before I'm dead, My plastic body's wrapped in chains, Confuse the thoughts inside my brain, Even though I was told, When I was born they broke the mold, Broke the mold, Can't get a hold, Of what I control, Broke the mold... When will the play of words begin, The angry crowd protests with murder, Naked meat enter stage left, She begins a speech and the men, Get a hard-on... Tears come to eyes, But men with muscles cannot cry, Words slur to sighs, Placed in the fridge before she dies, (x2) If it's not me that you see, I doubt very much that'll ever be, A man who thinks much more, Don't be afraid, I'm in your floor, In your floor, Don't close that door, I'm in your floor, Evermore...