There's a war through the kitchen and out by the lake
Close the door, let my footwear flick off the roof
Determined to get rid of the dust from my eye
I'll go for a swim, think, and ****** a gaze
Of gusts of wind that would impair my stride
If that spider happens to bite on the thigh
I'd use my left hand as cannonballs
And a pill to reality as my right