Besedila: Joy Electric. A Hatchet, A Hatchet.

Butchered to be left in parts
Disregard, labeled odd
Brain preserved in testing jars, then forgot
Typical condition
Tape the arms
Stitch the eyes shut
All for blood, all four walls, what to follow?

A hatchet, to the corners of your heart

Drawn toward the cutlery
Have to go, have to go
Carve your shame by incision, precision
Description, prescription
When to rest, when to unrest
Where to find different sorts
Other recourse?

A hatchet, to the corners of your heart

Have begun
To become
To be used
I've misspoken
Have no thoughts of my own
Mimic those
I have worshipped

A hatchet, to the corners of your heart