all my friends are vultures in a way
when I'm not dead they fly away
circling around some other still living prey
waiting for them to crawl so they can eat their face
and in the salty underground everywhere
there's more roots than I can bear
growing down and around some bastard's preserved mastodon's hair
and sure the archaeologists knew that their souls were still there too
and all these species' secrets left in the slate
a new fate we await, so spawn the industrial age
but all our basic concepts basically say that it's
all relatively arranged in such familiar ways
the new someday soon run away from me
draw one more scar hard on my heart
the flesh is much stronger where it's been torn once
like an arc weld holds things together 'till they're apart
and all my friends are vultures in a way
when I'm not alive they are over and away
fluttering around this carcass just casually eating my brains
no feathers on their heads, no flesh left on my face
and in the shifty underground everywhere
there's a few more roots than i can really bear
and on the surface the lights wide open where
the water runs too, like the roots do
and I knew someday the ruin might be built by me
just one more stone stacked ridiculously high
the solid is much weaker where it's been worn some
by the weather's low pressure zones