Flies

	No friend of golden hand
	Oiled with rose and smelly then
	As your blood burned poppy red
	Across your velvet coat
	Your deep blue velvet coat
	It’s there in Montana prairie grass
	The suits shot Custard down
	His red spot tired, his black boots shine
	How beautiful you look to the flies
	The happy kingdom of flies
	Dear Custard there’s a Wal-Mart now
	Where once the grizzlies roamed
	Mountains of hair spray and cowboys shirts
	And everyone has a gun
	Everyone still has a gun
	But high in the rafters above the lights
	Red finches, they hide their nest
	And when our cars drive out of sight
	They sing symphonies across the night
	In that forest of heating pipes
	And out past the parking lot along the curb
	In the wilds of weed and trash
	Prayed on his love, the smallest ants
	Fight battles for the glory of the queen
	Such a tiny, glorious queen
	But even the empress of the ants
	For whom ten thousand fall
	Makes not a sound beneath the blades
	Of our great empire of lords
	How quiet is the empire of lords

	No friend of golden hand
	Oiled with rose and smelly then
	As your blood burned poppy red
	Across your velvet coat
	Your deep blue velvet coat
	It' s there in Montana prairie grass
	The suits shot Custard down
	His red spot tired, his black boots shine
	How beautiful you look to the flies
	The happy kingdom of flies
	Dear Custard there' s a WalMart now
	Where once the grizzlies roamed
	Mountains of hair spray and cowboys shirts
	And everyone has a gun
	Everyone still has a gun
	But high in the rafters above the lights
	Red finches, they hide their nest
	And when our cars drive out of sight
	They sing symphonies across the night
	In that forest of heating pipes
	And out past the parking lot along the curb
	In the wilds of weed and trash
	Prayed on his love, the smallest ants
	Fight battles for the glory of the queen
	Such a tiny, glorious queen
	But even the empress of the ants
	For whom ten thousand fall
	Makes not a sound beneath the blades
	Of our great empire of lords
	How quiet is the empire of lords