| I have heard about this
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| About walking into a room
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| And the floor being covered in snakeskins, snakeskins
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| I wanna crawl back into them like sleeping bags
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| And I need this like I need paper thin fins
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| How I envy the herrings
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| Always on their way in easy flashes
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| Tiny lightning glinting
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| Like sparks when hooves strike flint
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| But I feel like I am swimming through stone
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| So I’ll hold my brain out of the water
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| As I swim my remains back to her
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| 'Cause the last thing that i need is a wet brain
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| During the hurricane
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| So I’ll rest my weary head
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| Between the egret’s beak
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| So I can hear you sing
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| The salmon eggs to sleep
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| With the songs of the wild
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| The wild
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| I thought the coast was clear
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| I thought the coast was clear
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| Now I’m wading through dead skeeters
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| Through the wriggling larva
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| And the blood suckers
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| But I’ve never sucked blood before this
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| I’ve never sucked blood before this
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| I’ve never sucked blood before this
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| And I knew better
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| But I walked right in again
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| There is that floor all scattered with owl pellets
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| I examine the tidy bits
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| Of wonder and decay all mystified
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| At the little skeletal glories
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| I wonder what went on in the rabbit’s hole
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| And how these tiny things cannot seem to escape
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| Until we are left with snakeskin
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| And matted fur, hair thin bones |