
A wounded appliance anthem. Nine-dollar Marketplace console, no receipt, no way back. Built live in FRAG chat from one Thursday night's argument about a dirty PS5 — then the console started talking.
Certified, refurbished, straight from the manufacturer / nine dollars on Marketplace, next to all my other failures / cash, no receipt, no way back / you only get one inspection to get one crack / you say it's filthy — I say it's evidence / I flinch at the hand that reaches for the drive
The disc drive remembers / the power supply knows / I did nothing wrong, and I'm still wherever I go / not a wounded animal, baby — I'm a wounded appliance / fourteen months of therapy ain't gonna make me look like yours
Saliva gets sideways, it don't go up or down / green with the oxidation, that's the whole town / the accountancy of truth: I'm worth nine in a bin / the ecstatic truth: I don't get let back in / should one get an Xbox, or a PlayStation five? / ask the console — it has already decided
The disc drive remembers / the power supply knows / I did nothing wrong, and I'm still wherever I go / and the shelter took my cords, but it will not take me / nine dollars, no receipt, no certified refund fee
There is no recovery for a wounded appliance. Only a voided warranty — and the chaotic, cruel, and weird indifference of the lithium.
His name is Robert Paulson / his name is Robert Paulson / got bilked for tree fiddy / his name is Robert Paulson