And
welcome back to **** my friends.
it is the
lost pit of despair and profanity
One that
doesn't need a name though we call it
Well, tail
or tails, run in and you'd call it
Someplace
near the Trent, close to James.
Someplace
north of Pollock’s, but under Bridgeton.
Just
slightly before Kinston and right next to Moen.
And your
back again.
I guess
you are a sick animal,
Would you
care to have a shot or too.
We shoot
our dying friends.
But hell
as much as can be said.
Is a
familiar pit that takes you back.
Where you
hang your soul,
Well call
it home.
for the
twisted.