Album: Prowler In The Yard (2001)

Trojan Whore


Half in darkness she stands in a dress of shrapnel,
smoke and torn flags.
Dragging off cigarettes of human skin.
Eyes like cracked eggshells empty as life.
Her index fingers drip mothers milk like hypodermic needles.
She stumbles through my veins high on ash
and dry semen fiending for love.