Welcome to the sty. Step into the den. I'm always here, writhing in discontentment. To lessen the pungent stench of my own misery, I dive into a warm cup of piss. Empty bottles of failure – the décor. In my cloudy box, you will find me wrecked and face down on the floor. Don't mind the odour and the grime. Kick back and relax. You're free to feed on what you find, just mind the roaches and you'll be fine. We are a happy family, the rats and I. We claw and scratch – our playfights do sometimes get a little out of hand. Don't mind the odour and the grime. Kick back and relax. You're free to feed on what you find, just mind the roaches and you'll be fine. I know it doesn't look like much but I'm sure it will grow on you – it grew on me too. It's funny that you had the same reaction all the others do. EEW! By now your senses should be well in tune with your surroundings, the dim light would have never felt so bright. The tongue, paralysed, the only taste you recognise is cigarettes. Breathe in the stink as we rot in this home sick home. In the sty, I thrive. Here I can do no wrong. In the sty, I'm home. Now there's tension in the pig pen. Someone is thinking of deserting the rats' nest. We can't have that. You are home to stay. the only tools we needTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
