Picnic in the Jungle - The Residents

Afterwards, it’s like a dream

You can’t remember but it seems

To stay alive inside your mind

And prey upon your leisure time

It happens in an open spot

The air is sticky and it’s hot

First they take away our clothes

Then they lay us down in rows

A cloud appears and melts away

The flesh of some while others stay

Machines that look like little cars

Consume the bones and count the scars

In a place that no one knows

We are prisoners of those

That no one sees and no one hears

But everybody hates and fears

Every day they leave a tray

And take an empty one away

On the tray are chicken legs

Potato salad and some eggs

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