The Blood Shed

On a back country road No street lights... no phone Lives an old butcher They call him... Toad! Toad has an old shack Buzzin' with flies Death hangs in the air Don't believe the lies! He never leaves home His wife... unknown! Birds circle in flight Feed on the carcasses of life Best leave Toad alone Don't visit, go home He don't talk, just grins Mumbles low through his chin Blood Shed On a road with no name Blood Shed Each day stays the same Hoof prints baked in the clay Drag marks from their last day Shimmering blades on the wall An eerie ode, last call Blood Shed On a road with no name Blood Shed Each day stays the same You can smell it in the dirt You can taste it in the air The blood shed of death Your dinners sliced and prepared Toad the butcher Slinging blades Cutting vermin Void of shade Toad the butcher Blood shed of death Enjoy your burger Fillet of death Life has a limit Don’t watch the clock Each tick a gift Each tock... one stops! Blood Shed On a road with no name Blood Shed Each day stays the same In the blood shed Toad shovels the scraps In the blood shed Hot dogs get wrapped.