These Arms Are Snakes Child Chicken Play
I've seen the ghost in you, I've touched the ghost in
you
Your face has begun to show the hurt you've done by you
Your money in masses can go with your ashes alone with
you
Like you always do
This pile of bones was last week's crowd
You walked with your lower surface
Your feet touched the ground
For more low sounds, for more low sounds
Like you always do
Child kitchen play like you finally got into the sweets
Now there goes your teeth
Skinny chicken beak pecking into a filth street
Like it's oil that it wanted to eat
Lost in a surface hole burdied down so low
You can smell the flowers right from where they grow
We got nickels on how long the show will go for
It's blood, it's blood
Your beast of a heart
It's blood, it's blood
Siphening more blood
You beast, you beast
Taking more wet dirt sound than you need
It's blood, it's blood
Touting your catch as if it tried to get away
The blood stained teeth you bare
Showing a lot more than you care
And I will be in small towns
I will be in many towns
Though these hills they roll
They soon will fall
Though these hill they roll
They will become nothing
