stands. Another way out, another way out. The army ants have escaped. The hair on the back of your neck stands up. Ink runs into my cup, I sip epiphany Fang bite tarantula, taste of my symptoms
I write your name on my arm with India ink. Baby I told you once before it's not what you think. I drink it in with a sip but I really want to chug. You know I take what I can get, give me a dub
