The Museum Of Flesh

Welcome to my museum of flesh,
no charge to pay, no need for cash.
Entry is free, both night and day,
so leave your kin, come walk this way.
There’s aisles and aisles of gory display,
broken remains and human decay.
A history of pain, of war and of hate,
is laid down for you to navigate.

Let's start at the start and work on from there
With unreal ideals and a young boy's despair.
Now here, our fine friend
He believed full of sin,
And only because of the shade of his skin.
But small-minded reminders pushed him to this state,
Was the will of sick men he should dilute his pate.
He bathed in turps and scrubbed with salt
and scratched his skin with a blade,
And cry though he would and scream at the pain
He wanted this colour to fade.
But with needles he changed the colour within
With bleach he injected under the skin,
In his arms, his legs, his face, chest and head
He was quite white, when he was dead.

Move along, move along
There’s plenty to see,
Here for example, exhibit 223.
The young pill popper pops pills no more,
For the pills that he popped dropped him to the floor.
And a young father here, his eyelids cut off, he had but to see,
As they stripped his dead daughter as she hung from the tree.
And they raped the Girl Scout just for being around,
And her head now sits proud on a spike in the ground.
And her mouth is all bloody and her teeth were replaced,
With blades for new dentures
Her jaws they defaced.

Here in this case we see the young geek,
With his glasses and stammer they deemed him a freak.
And just for a laugh they cracked open his head,
And laughed as they ran when they left him for dead.
And the quiet new starter on factory floor,
Was it fate he was pushed on the circular saw.
The spotty young girl who was deaf in one ear,
And the delicate boy whom his class said was queer,
And the fat piggy boy who cries for his mum,
And the crippled old man who’s blind, deaf and dumb.

Now ladies and gentlemen
Contain yourselves please,
There is but one last thing
With which I can tease.
The greatest exhibit, that ever there was,
My proudest achievement and this is because.
Tis the hearts of men that created this show,
The wicked we do, the pain we bestow.
Upon each other we curse and derive,
We hurt, and destroy, we kill and deprive.
We’ve created a truth, to cover a lie,
To hide the real suffering, and this is why I,
Have brought them together, the unloved and unnamed,
The disfigured and twisted, the sad and insane.
The wretched and crippled, the dumb, sick and lame,
Who suffered in life, and thanked death when it came.
For they did it for kicks, they really like the pain,
And their face's on wrong, that’s why they’re not vain.
But you see my friends, for you’re no friends of mine,
For I hope when you came you did see the sign.
A museum of flesh and I’m true to my word,
For they asked me for you and that prayer I have heard.
And they want you to now, realise what you’ve done,
So now cry for my daughter,
Now cry for my son.
For they weep everyday for the evil you’ve done,
So now look at my daughter,
Now look at my son.
For the scars that they wear, you have caused every one,
And the scars that they wear, you gave them for fun.
And I’m here by their prayers to give back what you’ve done,
For life is a game, and you thought you had won.
But believe me you’re wrong, because it’s not done,
And take heed when I say that the fun’s just begun.
And the angel of mercy now cries broken glass,
For each victim of fancy and the dark underclass.
Of those worthless beings in the gutter and grime,
For each of those living is considered a crime.

For I am now here to offer you this,
Your final reward for taking the piss.
For did you not think that your acts were not seen,
And that eyes were not watching the places you’ve been.
And the crimes that you’ve done, well they’ve all made my list,
All your spiteful games, not one I have missed.
So I’m here today to set the score straight,
For polluting the world with ignorant hate.
And destroying the lives of these helpless few,
Well guess what today, now you’re helpless too.
And there’s no one around to back up your lies,
For you I’ve no pity so please dry your eyes.
It’s too late for you, no more you shall roam,
My museum of flesh is now your new home.

© Copyright 2005 ReflectingeyE (UN: reflectingeye at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
ReflectingeyE has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.