Time to Leave The Cubicle

An any h ill made of concrete, a canyon of stone - steel fingers, full of bodies, aim to pull the clouds from the sky - all the ants scream, all the streets scream, "I'm ready to give" - still somehow the snakes found their way through - with the heat of the light, the bulb is too hot to touch... the city is falling - canyons come rubble - and the troubled once trapped inside are now set free - gaspng and crawling, pining through the tuins of a life worth shit - of a life not worth shit