You know everything is covered up
With a little bit of spit and blood
Somehow all of it is growing from
Just an echo and a fist of mud

You know everything must break or bend
Only till the pieces finally fit
All the fingerprints are filaments
Lining every side and pulling in

You know everything is on the up
All the blooms are stretching for a sun
When they finally reach a perfect one
It will still be made of spit and blood

La la la