BOMBSHELL
When you walked through the dance floor,
everyone turned their heads
You wore a gold sequined dress
and rainbow sparkles through your hair
I didn’t even mind when you stole my spleen,
I wasn’t using it anyway
Besides, a man has to give up something
of value to sip bourbon with a Princess
You were talking of existential surgery;
I was thinking about the bomb in the basement,
and the machine gun under our table
I thought it was a shame that
she would soon be blown to pieces;
It seemed such a dirty demise for royalty
Separating gold sequins from entrails
hanging off the ceiling, so as of not to
mix her remains with the bourgeois
Strange, how even in death,
the struggle between classes rages on
Horror Sleaze Trash 