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Chapter 1.

I built these hands one finger at a time
While drifting endlessly in the distorted lushness of the limbo-like surroundings
They engulf me and rip out my angel wings
Right off of my back
And the blood drips past the cracks
And the blood drips down to my toes
Who will be there to clean up the mess we've made?
Why create the wounds if there is no tongue to clean them
And why break the skin if it refuses to mend
The dirt in your bath water will drown us both in no time flat.

Chapter 2.

There are no more wild horses
Because we burned down the forest
RUN AWAY, children
RUN as fast as you can.

Chapter 3.

Denial isn't a river, it's a well in my back yard
I've been running the tap
And boiling my water
The answer has been there for years and yet
I suffer every day.