Out on the limb, passed the point of filled to the brim. Step by step my tracks lead the way. No turning back. Stay the course, we'll get there someday. Just over the ridge those monsters are about to start to feed. Blue tubes with hollow screws pierce the brain inside my head. A purple juice with a mix of orange too, drain from the sky where it bled.
I dont believe nothing they say is true. I don't believe it, but I heard you do. A drop is a bomb so don't drop the bomb. Your fate will be cut, sealed ,and locked if you don't remain calm. There is a lady in charge they call the Absolution Artist. You'll recognize her by the dogs and the snakes, an her unparrelled capacity for hate.
This place isn't safe. Im hung up in my living grave. I'm high as a kite both day and night, thinking as fast as light when the time is right. Visuals are a lightning, yellow ,grey, with a hint of violence and a mix of violet. I'm told the orange eyes open up with enough heat to fry every living thing in sight. So it's best to avoid that as best as you can. Man oh man, what should I do now Mann Bleakbland?