"From the height of the highway onramp we saw
Two dogs, a-dead in a field
Glowing on the Oakland colliseum green seats wasteland
Dogs, dogs we thought were dead
They rose up, rose up when whistled at
Their rib cages inflating like
Men on the beach being photographed
A guard dog, guard dog, for what? for what?
Against overzealous penniless athletic fanatics
Getting into games through a hole in the fence
For the owner of the blue tarp tent
Pitched by a creek beneath an onramp
In the privacy, of the last three
Skin and bony trees, devoid of leaves
And us undeceased, and with our new CDs
Zippin' on dead east, Oakland
It's hard to stand the sight of two dogs dead
Under a sky so blue
You have to stop the blood to your head
To fit the breath in front of you
We secretly long to be some part of a car crash
Long to see your arms stripped to the tendons
The nudity of swelling exposed vein
Webbing the back of your hand
To be a red tendoned dog
To be red tendoned dogs
Blood breathing by the side of the highway
I long to be dead
Center of a curious crowd
To be touched
Sticky like nearly dried paint
Their soft silent stare, nursing your face
Anticipating the slightest pinch I flinch of pain
Everyone blank in accident awe
As the car crash fibergla** dust
Straight up settles on your raw muscle tissue
It's hard to stand the sight of two dogs dead
Under a sky so blue
You have to stop the blood to your head
To fit the breath in front of you
To be a red tendoned dog
To be red tendoned dogs
To be red tendoned dogs
To be red tendoned dogs
To be dead center of a curious crowd
Against my misery I don't think I've seen my screeching pain, I can now feel what's around us. It is some sort of harmony, the harmony of overwhelming murder"