I feel melt
           concentrated in the chest, legs, brain, it is most hinderous.
           For instance, upon entering small enough rooms, thinking
           too hard, or looking too closely at my skin, some sort of ladle
           is at once ****** down my throat and grates forgotten
           membranes in the dark. It works up a soup, it does, and all
           the while I totter. My, what a dance!, though I can't say I'm
           glad to have taken to the floor. In fact!, the step of liquids
           flushing every which way inside drives one quite to the edge!
           Bonkers! I'd rather It'd just quit it's game, this soup.              
           I'd rather it just
spill.