King of the Washing Machine

Load:
Once, perhaps twice, you were someone's pride
But now you resemble a carcass lying unclaimed
After a kill, the pride of lions long gone after having
Their fill of you, leaving your cords and hoses strewn about
The ground resembling nothing more than undevoured entrails.

Soak:
Washed up machine colored olive green
Dressed in rust and three cycle misery
Sitting abandoned in an empty lot
Your only companion a busy street
In this unsympathetic suburban Camelot

Sitting dirty, rusty, far from your norm
Dry was once your friend, now rain is home
To a washed up world and washed up machine
I ponder my own on this throne set on heavy load

Disregard those who bare you such disgrace
I know in my heart it was no mistake
Our chance encounter in this urban sea
Fore with you as my throne I will take my place
As ruling king of the washing machine

Agitate:
My subjects rot
My kingdon grows
Bother me not
Your worldly woes
Of sexual inferno
Of fashionable clothes
Of self satisfaction
Or moral agitation

My pride bleeds
As hope takes seed
Trouble me oft'
As dreams take off
Of pure honesty
Of man's integrity
Of illumination
Of God's notions

Spin:
So load me your dirty dreams and your stained woes
Toss in your thread-bare hopes and torn souls
Together, my rusty friend, we'll spin the status quo
Until the world comes full cycle of what it should already know