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letra de the image of red cut in half - pigface

gonna tell you a story; some kind of a breakfast conspiracy
breakfast in bed, sir?
breakfast in bed, sir?
ah, no thanks, not today
in fact, i’d far rather be sitting in a distinctly upright position
so that i may at least have the ghost of a chance to digest
what i don’t mind telling you- is completely inedible slop
lovingly and habitually prepared and served by
the thugs and vagabonds who are the so-called staff of this inst-tution
finished with the menu, sir?
finished with the menu, sir?
finished with the menu, sir?
finished with the menu, sir?
yes, yes, i shall enjoy soft cakes, toast, tea, scrambled eggs,
strawberry jam…
mind you, i can’t complain, before i came here i thought
scrambled eggs were supposed to be brown and crispy at the bottom
and dull yellow at the top
my mother, god bless her, cannot boil a f-ckin kettle
without burnin the water inside
when i came here it’s a different story, you know, oh yes,
a whole different deck of cards…
scrambled eggs arrive with the consistency of a moth swimming about
in a foul yellow liquid- i wonder where that came from?
i would like to put forth my theory, my own inside story, if you will,
you wanted to know what i think?
i think that every morning as we sleep
our beloved kitchen staff gathers around the scrambled eggs
like some pagan cult offering homage to a false icon
first, the head chef, the cult leader, ritualistically stands on an
inst-tutional chair, opens the fly of his
inst-tutional trousers, pulls out his
inst-tutional w-lly, and urinates in our breakfast.
ha ha ha!
they’re just a bunch of loonies, what do they care?
half the bl–dy time they end up throwing it on the floor,
or worse still, at each other…

- pigface

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