just stretch the chains, you three-headed dogs, two-headed eagles. tear up the ground, tear down the sky. play that tune on my rib cage, grab & pull me down. right on wear me out, because i sure know that i can feel the holes being worn-out at the angles. angels. you can call out "catastrophic!" at the top of your lungs if you want to. i'll be counting shooting stars. one, two, three. how many shooting mes did our dinosaur friends count before it got too cold? & did they summon me on down, & who is to blame? i just have to become comfortable with these shark-tooth scars, i guess. why point fingers when fingers can pull triggers? oh what the fuck, i should be so lucky as to pretend that i can tell the difference between crickets & angels; both of them live in the walls, right? close your eyes & count to three. one, two three. this oily pudding today all around my shoulders. suffocating me in the car trunk. wrecked on the rectangles, angels or did i mean angles. oh heck i thought i meant crickets? i told you i couldn't tell the difference. they both live in the walls, right? faces a wraith.