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Prowler In The Yard

by Pig Destroyer

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      $12 USD or more 


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Jennifer 01:21
[In a computerized voice] Jennifer wrestled her friend playfully to the ground infront of the snowcone stand and began licking at the girls eyeballs, as if they were sugar cubes. Their bodies convulsed and flailed with an almost seizure like intensity. At times their pale limbs seeming to shift back and forth from one torso to the other. A crowd gathered almost immediately to watch these two girls tie and untie their bodies like a pair of pit-vipers. They were confused, or concerned, or shocked, or aroused, or all of the above. But no-one dared interfere with the performance. Jennifer's long ashen hair hung down concealing the girls face like a curtain around a hospital bed. No one had any idea that the girls eyes were revolving under her ruby tongue. "This is disgusting, it's pornography" exclaimed a pasty slut white woman in a fur coat, vanilla ice-cream smeared across her double chin like a money shot. Counting a balding professor type in his mid-forties, his left hand stuffed crassly down the front of his pants "No, no, no. This is beautiful, this is art."
Semen tastes like gunmetal she said smiling, the arms of boys drowning in fire reaching for the rungs of my rib cage. These pills I take in the witching hour. I imagine I am swallowing you.
They heckle the gun shy assassin. Led away in shame. The chameleon is my favorite animal. I learned that boys in dresses are ok on the last day of school. There was a rainbow like a halo over the world.
Trojan Whore 01:35
Half in darkness she stands in a dress of shrapnel, smoke and torn flags. Dragging off cigarettes of human skin. Eyes like cracked eggshells empty as life. Her index fingers drip mothers milk like hypodermic needles. She stumbles through my veins high on ash and dry semen fiending for love.
Fingerprints on my eyes like ten tiny maps to heaven. Or ten rogue angels torching the house of god. I fell something pressing against my kidneys. Maybe a pair of wings. Maybe the ghost of a bullet.
Stitched together into this beautiful monster animated by starlight. Pose like a fashion corpse and shed your denim skin my love. It is just a skull full of chlorine in the septic tank.
Religion in the corner of my eye. A peeping tom and a hole in the sky. The last stall on the left as our makeshift confession booth. Your parents will never know. Stalked by child's nightmare. The promise of serpents in the tall grass. Mother I've been raped in the shadow of a watchtower.
Happy birthday you broken child. Of the barbed ribs and the poison heart. I would show you the view of life from the floor but the knees are as far as you go. I give you exhibit A. A country girl bludgeoned with an elephant tusk. I give you everything I have wrapped in a shy kiss for you to use once and then destroy.
Androgynous we are. Ancient statues deformed in desert winds. Dead children play in mapplethorpe grey. Midnight orgies at the school for the blind. Learn to feel all over again. My name is anonymous. I taste like everyone. Medication blurs the last five percent.
Certain things fascinate me. First I went blind and then the sun went out. The way you hold a match so steady. How heaven is collapsing under so much joy.
Lovely body twisted into code. Saying something profound I'm sure. She went off like a living firework. Trauma is sexy.
Naked Trees 01:46
Once colorful dreams now swing like dead paratroops from the naked trees. Your sky lips and snow skin are sugar for the carrion perched high atop the naked trees. A flower on the bed of brittle leaves. A mass grave of tiny angels fallen from the heavens from the naked trees. Rot beautiful creature all lifeless and serene. A patch of scorched earth. Naked beneath the naked trees.
I sneak a sniff of her live wire hair. It is bright red with random sparks. My bionic sister teaches me inhumanity. Parting her silver thighs and making love obsolete.
I dream sometimes of a brother in red. The first unborn. Perhaps the son of god aborted and tossed and a garbage bag. Life is black comedy. Slapstick and vulgarity. Unworthy of the name. I still remember where mine went so wrong. My last night in sodom and my first morning in hell.
An entire year of you in a single speck of blood. The gun smiles your smile and the razor whispers your name. They are just frigid hands from the other side of the world leading me into winter.
Dyed red hair, a forest green dress and a pair of kitchen knives, it was the last time I ever saw a rose.
Body Scout 01:01
My skin has atrophied. It has been so long since the last touch. The maggots play their dead instruments for me. Devour in the key of E. Like a symphony of throats and piano wire. Like explosions in space and prostitutes of fire.
This is an advertisement for the skin machine. Paid for by the people that supply the lash for these pointless acts of self-flagellation. The vultures are made up like mockingbirds and they're circling. It is very important I make for a thin chalk outline.
Hyperviolet 03:28
Traced in a wet sand her name in perfect cursive. A love letter to the crescent moon. By tomorrow it will be gone I told her. There is no tomorrow she said. I can feel her in a bikini of coiled snakes dancing into the hiss of the wind. Postcards from a paradise in flames. She used to be so right. So right about everything.
Starbelly 05:03
Dear everything. Today I witnessed a crucifixion in pink and lavender and gold. I've heard people say that beauty is in details, but I don't think they have ever seen you. There were mortal wounds inflicted on the sky and incriminating blue stains on my shirt. The shirt you bought for me. Christ it hurts. Like stars in my belly going supernova. I feel like a zombie that refuses to live. Haunting the junkyards and cutting myself on scraps of you. The other day I masturbated to pictures of you at your birthday party. They were the only ones I still had. It felt so wrong, just like my life. I hope I'm dead by the time you read this. I love you.
Junkyard God 01:59
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.
Piss Angel 07:57
I see you headless with me caressing your neck My personal nightfall An eclipse of the sunflowers I feel so invisible So unknown A coffin of dust An illegible tombstone They finally buried the gravedigger in the sky I just need to shower in your amber and bathe in your earth Everyone quickly hushed up and took a step back as Jenifer rose and stood over the girl, Examining her handiwork. Her heart laid motionless beneath her, seemingly dead. Her eye sockets dry and empty. Her heels and elbows sprayed and bloodied. Some on-lookers gasped in horror. Some swooned and fainted melodramatically. Most just stared in disbelief. Jennifer reached down between her thighs and pulled The crotch of her bathing suit to the side - exposing Her vagina. The other girl slowly sat up and began sliding her fingers into Jennifer. A few minutes later, her wrists were in, then her elbows. Eventually she would completely disappear into her womb. Jennifer tilted her head to the side curiously. She heard the sound of a rickety-wooden roller-coaster in the distance. It's passengers screaming in mob terror. She knew that sooner or later they would realize that the Ride wasn't stopping and they were all going to die.


Pig Destroyer will take you on a rampaging journey through an unsettling, psychotic world. Melding an insane musical attack with similarly jarring lyrical prose and an unmatched propensity to incite.


released July 24, 2001

Relapse Records


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Pig Destroyer Alexandria, Virginia

PIG DESTROYER boil metal down to its muscle, sinew, and bone - razor-sharp guitar, percussive pummeling, and a lone, stark howl - and use them to commit a vicious assault. The lyrics paint loathsome, frightening images of pitch-black self-hatred and the frailty of the human experience. These musical manifestations only serves to cement their already legendary status. ... more


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