I am currently procrastinating writing my thesis.
To accomplish this, I have been sorting through boxes I’ve never unpacked, and tonight I took a crack at the lyrics for the song pulp baby by the systematics.

living in this fellowships are rotting in our home and you
pulp baby you and i
carrying a megaton and hiding from the trees
pulp baby you and i
i wanta call my baby baby i call our baby baby but not my baby
my love is like a piece of fruit that’s rotting in a bowl
its soft and brown and starts to stink
if its not thrown away
i feel like a rat bag when im in the kitchen of our home
and i have my peeled banana plugged into the blender of your mixmaster
and come out with a
pulp baby x3 (x4)
working on a coffee can a parasite of industry
pulp baby in a bowl
tying mrs’ torniquets by stroboscopic light
pulp baby in a bowl
pulp baby to the bone
my love is like the tampon prehistoric women used
its hot and brown and starts to stink
if its left in the cave too long
i can suck the baby from your nipple with my vacuum hose
and we can escape the rancid blood that’s shouting from the drain of the kitchen sink
and holding up the
pulp baby x3 (x4)
we were so surprised to find our baby in your mixmaster
and we had the television on but then we made the picture filled with snow
we gave it to a
pulp baby x3 (x4)
none of this means anything except the piece that makes thing
pulp baby you and i
i woke up this morning found out that overnight my body’d changed
someone else’s arms and legs and hands were clutching at the sheets i knew were mine
exchanged me for a
pulp baby x3 (x4)
how i wish my life could be just like a tape loop going round
everything the same each day the same and go on my secure infinity splice
just you and i a
pulp baby x3 (x4)