You'd hold on to nothing
If it fit in your hands
Pockets and bags just won't understand
The common disorder of heads on the rise I am just waiting for something to happen
Don't smell with the nose or see with the eyes
And all sense is lost
To make you a man
Will you behold a revolution with style
You'd callous the body
Harder to touch but that was the plan
You'd swap your hands for a new set of teeth
The chatter goes well and it's well preserved
The grass remains green if it's left undisturbed.
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