| We socialize in the moonless pit
|
| Of my own intelligence
|
| I’m suspended in space
|
| and encircled by mirrors
|
| Through my reflection
|
| Things are becoming clearer
|
| Apparently teeth
|
| Are beginning to germinate from the roots of my eyes
|
| I find myself wincing
|
| As they chew through my optic flesh
|
| Layers of teeth
|
| Dancing, waltzing
|
| Their way out of my now punctured face (X2)
|
| It’s comical in retrospect
|
| I used to enjoy this
|
| Levitating notion of escape
|
| It’s opening the gates
|
| To a newborn philosophy
|
| My deep seeded dementia embraced
|
| Layers of teeth
|
| Dancing, waltzing
|
| Their way out of my now punctured face (X2)
|
| My deep seeded dementia embraced
|
| Hallucinogenic contemplations
|
| Have become my finest friend
|
| It’s opening the gates
|
| To a newborn philosophy
|
| My deep seeded dementia embraced (X2) |