I think the hurly burly's done
The Homo Sapien's lost its fun
The Spirit father's son of man
Can walk the above
Maintain his tan
There is no greater fish to fry
The fish beneath our feet will fly
But this man walks where we cannot
We must assure that he will rot
Look at him Bleed
Look at him Bleed
No other corpse is cause to feed
What it sounds like.
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