i procrastinate and wait too long
wait 'til noon just to make breakfast tea
and i have no excuses, except for the demon
who comes in the night to me
he's the procrastination demon; he's got two demon tits
and he beckons to me, calling "suckle please!"
i can't help but gorge on procrastination milk
until i'm stuffed and woozy, wobbly in the knees
the next morning i pile trash on top of the trash
i watch as the laundry pile grows
i tuck away bills, let my inbox grow fat
don't trim the long nails on my toes
my boss calls, says: "haven't you done such and such?"
i say i'm sick, needing my rest
i want to say, you'd understand if at night
you were faced with those horrible breasts
i procrastinate shopping, my pantry is bare
i eat spoonfuls of white enriched flour
i lie in bed hungry, procrastinate sleep
'til the clock strikes the demon breast hour
and then, just as always, the devil appears
he bangs on my window panes
i let him in, drink from his fat, ugly breasts
feel procrastination seep into my veins
i was useless, at his mercy, and i couldn't do a thing
my Christmas lights were up and it was May
i lost my job, didn't apply for a new one
i watched re-runs of Rugrats all day
it had to stop, so i bought a silver pistol
and the next time the demon arrived
i put the weapon to his head and said, "suckle yourself
if you've any desire to survive!"
he whimpered as he drank from his own fat breast
when he begged i stop, i didn't reply
a milk mustache formed above his fat lips
i said, "drink your own mammaries dry!"
i showed no mercy; didn't let him stop
made him gorge himself 'til he could only cough
and he hasn't been back to visit since then
i think he's been putting it off
