Claws and beaks and terrible things
Put your hands to your ears
So you can hear your heartbeat
Put down the magazine you’ll need your sleep
When we wake we will dig
On your hands and knees
Yellow eyes, sharp teeth, and terrible things
Back luck piled up on pretty bad genes
In the morning you breathe
We’ll just dig
Dirt over your shoulders
A thousand tiny tunnels
God doesn’t throw dice
Take that lead tape off your back
Get some clay in your nails
Put a fort in the hillside
Poisonous bites and glorious stings
Turn your eyes to the ground
Terrible sound
Terrible sound
Dirt over your shoulders
A thousand tiny tunnels
God doesn’t throw dice

SOUMETTRE LES CORRECTIONS