That rotten landlord.
Her rotten soul.
This heat's driving me to put a
Hole through her rotten skull.
This wire brick house,
In her silk room.
She expects me to pay with the skin of my teeth,
But I won't give in to her abuse.
WHAT SHE'LL GET.
WHAT SHE'LL GET.
This charming axe:
My hammer and spike.
The plaster from which I hang my picture's
Expecting rent later tonight.
BUT WHAT SHE'LL GET.
WHAT SHE WILL GET.
SHE'LL CALL TO ME.
One swing is all it takes,
And I'm debt-free, at least for the time being.
She's growling about how the rent is too cheap,
How I should be dead out on the streets.
IF THERE WERE A GOD SHE WOULDN'T ALLOW THIS.
IF THERE WERE A GOD SHE WOULDN'T ALLOW THIS.
I'M ON A MISSION TO MAKE THIS WORLD MORE PURE,
I'M ON A MISSION TO PUT THIS AXE
STRAIGHT THROUGH THIS HARDWOOD FLOOR.
THAT'S WHAT SHE'LL GET.
THAT'S WHAT SHE'LL GET, THAT COUNTS.
THAT'S WHAT SHE'LL GET.
THAT'S WHAT I'LL GET, THAT COUNTS.
THAT'S WHAT I'LL GET.
She's bloodied and bashed.
We grip this insurgent axe:
Sharp side blunt from repeated percussion.
Her silk room red,
My cynic brain crushing,
The death of this salesman only akin to
Seizing the means of production.
I AWAKE TOO LATE.
I SEIZE ME BY THE THROAT.
TO CRUSH MY AIRWAYS.
TO HEAR ME GROAN OUT THIS HOUR.
Now I'm a decimated, tired, wood floor.
With a chop-block head and red silk robes.
"I've given up," she says,
As I stare into the blue of her eyes.
I cannot empathize with the fact that my dead callous god
Still seems to lie
IN WAIT,
FOR MY RECKONING DAY.
THIS GUILT KILLS BLISS.
AND I WILL REST IN THIS HEAT.