Raised for Slaughter
Oscar Dowling
Like a bat
Out of hell
On a half
Tank of gas
Got the fuck
Out of dodge
On the piss
In the sticks
And alone
In the road
Little eyes
Like little stars
Of a pretty little lamb
Raised for slaughter
Left my keys in the ignition
Left my boots on at the door
Beyond all recognition
Left him on the bathroom floor
As he begged me to forgive him
I thought he was asking for more
His blood thin on my hands
Like dirty water
Oh my child
My child
My daughter
How have I failed you
For an eye, an eye
And a tooth, a tooth
And if the jury don’t acquit him
They’ll slap him on the wrist
And a bracelet on his ankle
Write his name up on a list
Have him excavate his childhood
With some psychoanalyst
Leave nothing to chance
That’s what I taught her
Oh my pride and joy
My daughter
I could not let him go
And if I get away with murder
Then baby I’ll come home
