Eyes embrace
the food they can't taste.
Oh, a table without
dat brown gazelle, to waste.
A waste of grazing and falling.
There are no legs to
stop falling.
Crawling.
No legs to keep crawling.
Soft lips start falling.
Brown skin keeps swarming.
Fresh flesh starts warming.
Hands melting and
Carving.
Carving out white wood, and
Carved dogwood
starts bleeding.
Stop falling.
Stop Falling!
Hey dere, be calling.
'till morning on
calling.
Stop falling,
Stop falling.
'till morning on
calling.