The Rudy Schwartz Project - House Fly

Hold still, Melvin, I'm still inserting these electrodes under your skin.
Every time you twitch it makes me feel like you don't love me anymore. As soon
as I throw this switch, you'll notice some throbbing cysts forming on your arms
and legs, pulsating with blood just like Edgar Buchanan's face. That should
stimulate the cilia that have already formed on your torso, especially around
the nipples. Give it ten or fifteen minutes and you'll turn into a house fly
the size of a bean bag chair, and those quivering sacs of blood will jiggle
rhythmically to that first Ornette Coleman album that pissed everyone off
because it didn't adhere to the harmonic traditions of western music, at
least prior to Schoenberg and those two other guys who never get mentioned on
public television.

This wasn't my idea, if you'll recall. There wasn't exactly a huge market
for contraptions that require two hundred kilowatts just so you can watch the
lights blink until the whole thing tips over. That's why I suggested adding
a couple of microprocessors, one to control a Bulgarian voice generator with a
Streptococcus infection, and the other to inflate these balloons that
regulate how often you can watch our neighbours fucking through the secret
port hole that you installed the day after the boa constrictor ate your dog.

Hold still, Melvin, because you're my big, puffy house fly now. A big, stupid goddamned
house fly with quivering blood bags stapled to your limbs. Hold still, Melvin,
because every time you twitch, it seems like you don't love me anymore.

Written by:
LEE NEWMAN, MICHAEL JOHN WELLS

Publisher:
Lyrics © Warner Chappell Music, Inc.

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