blueprints in wastebins to birthmarks and dead endsnnthe warmest regards to the gate and the tollnnthis asphalt is listening to crosses roll overnnas waterfalls dance off the ends of the earthnnnnbeing born is like being kidnapped and sold into slaverynnnni'm losing myself and finding my mindnnbut in time i'd see that it wasn't my mindnnwouldn't i mind to see a timennwhen i'm finding myself and losing my mindnnnnfeverish and craving are these cherished conceptionsnnof where we just might belongnnplugged into your wallsnnthe angels in your hall wait to be taken apart