Hold my head low and I start to drift away
Slither to a cave, abandoned long before the elderly snored
Rustle through the grass past pale zig-zag antelope bones
The anguish of my venom as I shoot my tongue
The dart of my fangs and the luster of mud
Prongs that I cast out everyday
Puncture the ground and shake my face
The milky chalk of the dirt I taste
Quakes the earth of my soul
And eases my hate
Too deep to drown
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