You're Gonna Die Slow (Von Trier's Beggars)

The woods are peering into my house
Mephistopheles checking in on his Faust
And the distant screams of the birds and bees
Make the maggots to move in my cavities
And the cloud of worms following me round
Lick at the bottom of my shoes as I tread the ground
Checking for the rash, checking for the lump, checking for the canker
Waiting for the itch, waiting for the blood, waiting for the cancer
Breasts and billboards ulcer this gut:
Teeny tiny hands sprouting to hurry me up
A few years in the colon forgetting my name
To the waiting asshole of a digger-neat grave
A televisual hex from a silicone witch (Repeat!)
Another neon brood slithers from a puppy-faced bitch (Repeat!)
And the portals are widening into the void
But it’s less Egon Scheile, a little more Lucian Freud
The cracks in the roof have made a pact with the trees (Repeat!)
For the next high wind when I’m fast asleep (Repeat!)
The frayed wires all a-wiggling in delight
In the power shower cover that’s not earthed quite right
Noroviruses bloom on the cashpoint keys (Repeat!)
The E. coli blossoms in the food I eat (Repeat!)
And the screws in the shelves looming over my bed
Work loose a little more every time I rest my head
Ballets in menses?
Poems in shit?
Raptures in urine?
Go ask Job Luxford
If there’s a God in the grit
I don’t think so
I don’t think so
Just so you all know:
You’re gonna die slow