| What other option is there
 | 
| Than to give your head away or take the one that’s given away?
 | 
| Or give away your stuff to your friends?
 | 
| But they don’t need it either in the snake pit
 | 
| You are but the snakes you fuck
 | 
| And not the other way around
 | 
| I believe that you touch yourself in the dark and think about nothing
 | 
| It’s some way to spend your time
 | 
| If two rivers down a mountain never touch, what does it matter to you?
 | 
| What does it mean to you?
 | 
| If you cared, the future would look different
 | 
| A thousand pine needles glowing red hot
 | 
| If two trees in the forest never touch, can you still see it?
 | 
| The snakes become your friends
 | 
| And flog you to death for your secret sin
 | 
| On a thousand steel needles glowing red hot
 | 
| What is another horseless cowboy
 | 
| That knows no dirt
 | 
| That knows no rope or brownish sunsets supposed to think?
 | 
| Standing in between two rivers, close enough to only see one river
 | 
| And touching themselves in the dark
 | 
| I knew a cowboy once and he hit me in the gut so hard
 | 
| I bled inside and I carried those guts with me forever
 | 
| The strange smell of misplaced guilt ever since then
 | 
| Hit me again
 | 
| Hit me again
 | 
| Hit me again
 | 
| Hit me again
 | 
| Hit me again
 | 
| Hit me again
 | 
| Hit me again
 | 
| Hit me again
 | 
| The corrugated face of the elephant
 | 
| The arctic smooth of the gun
 | 
| The face of the gun
 | 
| The substance that bridges the gun and the elephant
 | 
| To you on the other
 | 
| Side of the world
 | 
| Unknowing
 | 
| But on your back just the same
 | 
| Wondering your connection to them
 | 
| The face of the gun
 | 
| The arctic smooth of the gun
 | 
| The face of the elephant and the substance that bridges the gun
 | 
| To the involuntary silence of things
 | 
| After they’re done being things
 | 
| For now
 | 
| You don’t know anything about silence
 | 
| For now |