| Leave well enough alone, annihilate the telephone |
| Be what only you can see, a curious and odd belief |
| Meant to walk the crooked mile, never blink, you never smile |
| Sees itself in nothing much, a skeletal emotion push, no |
| Unrising, slumped over |
| The dank seasons are controlling |
| Leave well enough alone, annihilate the telephone |
| Sees itself in nothing much, a skeletal emotion push, no |
| Unrising, slumped over |
| The dank seasons are controlling |
| The dropping ladder of crucifixion |
| Of crooked eyes, one green, one blue |
| A mongoloid gaze |
| Unrising, slumped over |
| The dank seasons are controlling |
| A 'Never had', a 'Never will' |
| In the syringe being pushed through |
| The leverage that pulls it over |
| Is dropping into the moot, drowning on a sinking boat |
| The pressure brings it up, then down |
| Like, like |
| Unrising |
| it slicks, it slicks away |
| Now it’s over |
| It’s got a gift |
| Reality |
| It’s got a gift |
| Reality |
| It wasn’t real |
| Now it’s over |