My soup is warm,
And my blankets are soft
Inside this cold world...

Where blizzards erupt
From mouths made of rubber
That bleed at the summers peak

Where the pyramids open up
Their eyes to the world,
And are cursed by sight...

Cursed by the painted light
Where shade is hidden
Under the rocks in great valleys...

But I,
Am not worried...
About the gnawing of otters...

About the chirping of newborns...
About the blood of painted gold...
About the quarters in one's pockets...

I am worried about my tea
And if it's to get cold,
Then I may follow the world...

I'll follow the world with
A mask and a machete...
And kill souls for avarice...