A Gentleman's Sport

Vague men tied to a stake
Gather 'round your little ones
Feast your eyes
Steady your aim
Behold
We hit shore dragging miles of verse
Poisoned food on the line, we’re throwing it back
Thought the meat of this kill would feed starving artists for centuries
Skin him, gut him
This is not what we bargained for
He is worthless unless he is whole
Make bait, food for thought
Spit back every hound
Spit back every hound
All that we hunt for, we are
Plastic rabbits and white elephants
An unclothed singularity is the fox that the dogs couldn’t reach
Skin him, gut him!
The contaminated repast for the head of the bachelor band
Make bait, food for thought
You have no idea what you’re up against
You have no idea
I chewed off my very own head to get me out of this trap
Bring me the tongue, everything else is fat
Salvage the tongue
Discard the rest of him
Bring me the tongue, everything else is fat
Salvage the tongue, everything else is fat
Bring me the tongue, throw back the rest of him