| Nothing is solid, nothing is straight
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| The creature uncouples itself to move
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| Crawls on the air, scratching the light
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| Spiraling down like the stairs in your house
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| Blind, stinky, and cracking bones as a call
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| It vomits dust made of skin
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| Malaise shoving back the whole
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| From your basement, to your hair
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| Even your feet on the couch
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| It vomits dust made of skin
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| Even spits up your dad in the sink
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| Elbows and knees as veins
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| An eye, a tunnel to draw men down
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| A cord linking the being to the clouds above
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| Like a straw to swallow you
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| Like a prey running to be caught
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| And cracking bones as a call
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| More of them are falling like rain
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| Mud is defeated by their drool
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| They drink it down, again, like a soup
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| And gargle it before swallowing
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| A jaded world in transition
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| Exposed to the hazards of evolution |