Here I am still intact, and I should give myself credit for that, but I have cast a stone deep into my throat, I squat on land my feet won't reach, the smell of blood and bile and bleach, I need a square foot and a rope. We can weave, we can unravel, we keep on sleeping right through our travels, we can weave, we can unravel, take our confusion to a much lighter level. Spit it up and hand it over to yet another child of squallor, pallid wheezing lost all her color, her dark circles getting darker, he crossed her palm, but nothing seems to wake her from her shitty dreams, now she's become just one more helpless package of doom. The city looks especially vindictive tonight, that hitchhiker looks like he's headed home to murder his wife, well it's a proven fact they don't respond to every call for help in time, so there she stays, poor little girl, lying on the floor of a dirty bathroom, no folks there's no device, no box of gods to descend and take this tragedy, tie up all the loose ends.