there s something growing in the trees i think it sa different me with a spiral cord adapting to anger raging in a world of lost commands as a child of undying innocent presence reflecting the inside of its nature cleansing the hallways of its mysteries not to linger on in absence in genetic motion to renew the self openminded wrath of the viscious deep sown to the seals of an alien dna with bestial protions sifting through the herds of its flesh as pain is my salvation i abandon everything else in this world lifting my head to alight and move forth ripping the lids of reality sleepless through the corridors of anger seemingly undressed to speak for its cause raw light attend to my confession as the final dreams are dreamt