Dredged from the bottom of a dead man’s gullet
Carved into the ugliest down-and-out
You’ll live with the smell in the heart of winter
Pass me in the summer, and you’ll wanna leave town
 
Poked by the sticks of a children’s choir
Coughed up something awful: they’ll never sing again
Bathed in the river, got a rash that feels like fire
All the fish decide that they’re amphibians
 
I know when I’ve finally outstayed my welcome
Stocks in pitchforks go through the roof
Weathermen have started using my name
They’d rather have a hurricane than see my face
 
In this ugly world I feel like a model
I’ve been the worst me that I can be
I’d rather have a purpose than having sod all
Even if it’s turning stomachs in the streets
 
You’ve walked by me with your mind on salad spoons
Spice racks, and brand new bidets
My black eyes rained down a monsoon
Right upon your godforsaken gilded cage
 
You set fire to me, but my diseases
Will take to the air like a pestilent fog
Try and hold your breath, there’s no avoiding
I’ll leave you like a ragged, wretched, plague-bitten dog

(Image taken from Twin Peaks season 3)

Pond Scum

Simon Maxwell-Stewart