Elliott Smith reading a poem in 1997 Pigpile

poem begins at 1:35 At the bottom of a pigpile Person X sits tangled up in trunks and limbs. The room is so full of fucking opinion that only the biggest people can move at all, and when they do, which is out of boredom or desperation, some smallish little unfortunate gets pinched in the process and gets hurt and starts shrieking and if anybody is bleeding then they are immediately taken out by two big gorillas who take them to the main chimp who brow-beats them and decides to feed them fewer bananas. If none of these treatments work to stop the bleeding then they are carted off to the zoo. Otherwise we wait and sleep, and sleep and wait, and scream and wait, and scream again. So welcome to the hospital you stupid animal.