There is lambswool under my naked feet.
The wool is soft and warm,
Gives off some kind of heat.
A salamander scurries into flame to be destroyed.
Imaginary creatures are trapped in birth on celluloid.
The fleas cling to the golden fleece,
Hoping theyll find peace.
Each thought and gesture are caught in celluloid.
Theres no hiding in my memory.
Theres no room to void.

The crawlers cover the floor in the red ochre corridor.
For my second sight of people, theyve more lifeblood than before.
Theyre moving. Theyre moving in time to a heavy wooden door,
Where the needles eye is winking, closing in on the poor.
The carpet crawlers heed their callers:
Weve got to get in to get out
Weve got to get in to get out.

Theres only one direction in the faces that I see;
Its upward to the ceiling, where the chambers said to be.
Like the forest fight for sunlight, that takes root in every tree.
They are pulled up by the magnet, believing that theyre free.
The carpet crawlers heed their callers:
Weve got to get in to get out
Weve got to get in to get out.

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