Thrift

I sit here all knowing,
knowing nothing is here at all,
my cut spread slower,
pig hands reach into my sides.
I hate this life you give me,
I give you hate you live for me,
this hurting feels like love to me.
They go down, down... down inside,
they go down town, down town,
they go down town to sell.
My body hangs on hooks,
a cloth to society,
your dollars wet my skin,
makes me paper mache thrift.
I hate this life you give me,
I give you hate you live for me,
I love the pain.
I love this hurting feels like love to me.
They go down...
down town, down town they go,
down town, down town to sell me.