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There is lambswool under my naked feet |
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The wool is soft and warm |
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gives off some kind of heat |
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A salamander scurries into flame to be destroyed |
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Imaginary creatures are trapped in birth on celluloid |
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The fleas cling to the golden fleece |
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Hoping they'll find peace |
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Each thought and gesture are caught in celluloid |
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There's no hiding in my memory |
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There's no room to void |
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The crawlers cover the floor in the red ochre corridor |
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For my second sight of people, they've more lifeblood than before |
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They're moving. They're moving in time to a heavy wooden door |
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Where the needle's eye is winking, closing in on the poor |
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The carpet crawlers heed their callers |
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We've got to get in to get out |
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We've got to get in to get out |
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There's only one direction in the faces that I see |
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It's upward to the ceiling, where the chambers said to be |
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Like the forest fight for sunlight, that takes root in every tree |
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They are pulled up by the magnet, believing that they're free |
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The carpet crawlers heed their callers |
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We've got to get in to get out |
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We've got to get in to get out |
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Mild mannered supermen are held in kryptonite |
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And the wise and foolish virgins giggle with their bodies glowing bright |
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Through a door a harvest feast is lit by candlelight |
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It's the bottom of a staircase that spirals out of sight |
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The carpet crawlers heed their callers: |
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We've got to get in to get out |
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We've got to get in to get out |
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The porcelain mannikin with shattered skin fears attack |
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The eager pack lift up their pitchers- the carry all they lack |
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The liquid has congealed, which has seeped out through the crack |
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And the tickler takes his stickleback. |
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The carpet crawlers heed their callers |
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We've got to get in to get out |
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We've got to get in to get out. |
