| Song | Junkyard God |
| Artist | Pig Destroyer |
| Album | Prowler In the Yard |
| My knuckles are bleeding on your front door and these flowers are wilting in the rain. | |
| They were for you and now they are for no one. | |
| They are irrelevant as mercenaries in times of peace. | |
| They are smoke twisting off the lips of a movie star. | |
| Here is a boy with paper skin who longs to touch the girl of broken glass. | |
| She loves it when he wears his skin like that. | |
| In tatters. |