Rope
Mac McNeilly, David William Sims, Duane Denison, David Yow
Rope, here
Rope, here
Rope, here
Rope, here
One free end around his ankles, also 'round his knees
He had left a trail of blood that led into the trees
He lay beneath a broken branch face down in the grass
No mason or bricklayer he, a trowel was in his ass
Now rope
Rope!
Rope!
Rope!
They found spray paint in his sinus, cotton in his ears
His cheeks showed little slugstyle tracks that dried there from his tears
The morning that they found him dead the sun was shining bright
It cast a shadow of the rope that he had tied so tight
The shadow fell across the grass, across his filthy clothes
It fell across the shit-caked pants, just how worn were those
He lay beneath a broken branch face down in the grass
No mason or bricklayer he, a trowel was in his ass
Now rope
