where black crows cease to sit,
The leaves are dead,
the branches break,
and bark falls off this tree
Inhospitable home on a dusty dirt road
how did these piggies get high?
A warning sign?
A big fuck you to this passersby?
Oh, big ol' pink hides,
Oh, big ol' pink heads!
If I were that tree I'd be thrice over dead.
As dead as those piggies hung high on dead lumber,
a long lullaby for an unending slumber.