No Trade-Ins

Christmas of ‘82,
I picked up a pipe wrench.

Stood on top my bed,
Held it above my head,
Tryin’ to get early tickets to the next show.

They say there’s easier ways to go,
Say that’s one hell of a blow,
But I don’t know.

It was a good thwack, I’ll give em’ that.
Instant pitch-black attack.

You ever seen a pipe wrench fall on a skull?

Almost makes a ready-dip bowl,
but with Grey Goose jello.

They asked me how I did it.
Shit, gravity did its bit.

Two months in a vegetative state,
And they ask me if I saw them pearly gates.

Eyes eager and mouths drawn back in jackal’s grins,
As if those buffoons were real shoe-ins.

Chagrin, though, when I tell ‘em,
I kept dreamin’ of a used car dealership.

Only they was sellin’ souls,
Like in that Meatloaf song.

Shit.

My soul ain’t exactly catnip.
Not worth a trade in.

Plus the Great Salesman,
He said he can’t put me on no cosmic doll.
And damned if I had some ethereal bankroll.

So he sent me back.

Buildin’ karma, I’d call it,
Credit, is what he said.

Get in touch with me on Twitter