You have your very own number

They dress your cage in its nature

Once you roared now you just grunt lame

Pace around pathetic pound games



Wanna get out won't miss you sensaround

To carry your own dead to swing your tyre tricks

Wanna get out here you're bred dead quick

For the outside,

The small black flowers that grow in the sky



They drag sticks along your walls

Harvest your ovaries dead mothers crawl

Here comes warden, Christ, temple, elder

Environment not yours you see through it all



Wanna get out won't miss you sensaround

To carry your own dead to swing your tyre tricks

Wanna get out here you're bred dead quick

For the outside,

The small black flowers that grow in the sky



Here chewing your tail is joy