Lyrics

My great thanks to the unrepresentable Jason Fuse on BGVs.


I get up
Twice a night with a scowl
I’ve got it tough
My prostate’s the size of an owl
And I know
How to navigate by feel
So I don’t need to flip the light switch
To finish the deal

But then I stub my toe on one of Michael’s Hewlett-Packard email machines
And his sister’s girl scout canteen
And an old tube of Brylcreem

My house is filled with junk
I’m surrounded by junk
In ossified clumps
This place is a dump

Stained ties, a parachute, porcelain cats
A used catheter from 2010
A set of 7 orange traffic cones
And a Culture Club cassette

Well lookie here this is a plastic baggie filled with my children’s baby teeth
Some postcards, and underneath
A cup of skin from my feet

How do we live amongst this junk?
Can someone take this junk?
Why did I ever want this junk?
Why are we saving this junk?